


Too Good

by abluevixen (knightofbows)



Category: Pokemon GO
Genre: Academy setting, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Blood and Violence, F/M, Go and Candela are siblings, Gun Violence, Kidnapping, Killing, M/M, Spark POV, Team Rocket are Terrorists, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:04:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightofbows/pseuds/abluevixen
Summary: Go disappears. It's up to Spark to find him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is a cross-post from my [tumblr](http://foxtricks.tumblr.com/), and takes place after [Into You](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8483362/).
> 
> i also want to thank [surfacage](http://www.surfacage.net/) and [characats](http://characats.tumblr.com/) for letting me use some of their pokemon go headcanons, including, but not limited to how the team leaders display their connections to their birds, and ideas regarding spark's lineage. 
> 
> other inspirations and credits will be added as needed.
> 
> any OCs, unless otherwise stated, are mine.

Spark likes the rookery.

It’s quiet there, peaceful. The eggs require carefully controlled and monitored environments, each different for each pokemon species, but it was the silence, the absence of chaos that was most integral to the pokemon’s development. Incubators were completely soundproof, utterly controlled, but for reasons Blanche and Professor Willow were still trying to decipher, walking with the incubating eggs helped them along. Spark believed it was the steady motion, like rocking a baby to sleep, though there wasn’t enough science to support the theory.

He couldn’t help the soft words he said to them as he monitored the eggs’ progress, how he ran his gloved hand down their smooth shells. Some pokemon species stayed with their eggs until they hatched, soothing them with voice and warmth. Nurturing them. Sometimes Spark couldn’t help trying to do the same, as much as he could in the sterile, artificial environment of the rookery. He spends much of his free time walking the eggs to give them that individual attention consequent to lacking a present mother.

But Spark seeks the serenity of the rows upon rows of eggs–some rustling faintly in their nests–for the same reasons the eggs are kept so serene. Sometimes the noise becomes too much. Sometimes _people_ become too much and he just…he needs to _get away_. Not many people understand his chronic introversion beyond Candela and Blanche–and even, now, after so many years together, his pervasive need for solitude sometimes baffles them–but Go does. Unlike Candela and Blanche, however, Go’s presence doesn’t interfere with his solitude. Go just _fits_ there, calming where others are riling, a balm where others are an irritant.

_Go._

Punching data into a tablet, Spark stifles an involuntary smile by biting his lip. Unbidden as his grin, he’s awash with sudden, overwhelming affection upon a compulsive reflection of that morning: waking up with Go at his side, the lines of his muscled back defined beautifully in the sunlight dappling through the curtains.

He watched him sleep for several lazy minutes–how his chest expanded with each steady breath, the way he’d nestled deep within Spark’s bed sheets in sleep–before succumbing to the urge to touch. First, with gentle fingers through his soft hair, then tracing his jaw. When Go finally stirred, Spark shifted across the mere inches of space separating them and kissed his forehead reverently.

Go only allowed him to indulge for a moment before he hauled Spark in for a proper kiss. And when Go rolled onto his back, pulling Spark atop him, they fell into a now-familiar routine of messy kisses and wandering hands, wracking one another with shivers and pitching moans.

Spark has a faint twinge in his lower back from their early-morning tumble that flares whenever he bends a certain way, but it only reminds him of Go’s demanding grip and urgent, biting kisses. When he thinks of how they parted–Go dragging him into a tender, weighted kiss–Spark’s chest aches with audacious hope.

So distracted by the notion, and the unfamiliar twinge of intangible pain that accompanies it, Spark enters incorrect data twice before recognizing his mistake, and he completely misses the footsteps approaching him from behind. It isn’t until inappropriately familiar arms wrap around his waist that he’s startled from his racing thoughts, and it’s only with the weight of Go’s chin resting on his shoulder does he relax.

“Working hard or hardly working?” Go teases, absently kissing the side of Spark’s neck.

Spark trembles involuntarily, and Go presses his pleased grin against his fluttering pulse. “Just general maintenance,” Spark answers. He leans back minutely against Go’s chest. “What are you doing here? Someone could see us.”

“The place is empty,” Go answers. “I wouldn’t have come up to you like this if it wasn’t.”

Humming thoughtfully, Spark tilts his head so Go can kiss more of his neck. Despite pleasure pulsing down his spine, he’s disappointed with himself over his last few data mistakes, so not even Go’s lips can detract his focus from the tablet in his hands. Absently, he asks, “Is that what brings you to the rookery?”

“Yeah,” Go says. He slides his hands to Spark’s hips and squeezes until Spark bites his lip. “Figured you’d be here, and I wanted to see you.” He kisses his neck again, then reaches around Spark to access the tablet where he taps a few buttons. “How long have you been working on this sector? These were checked just the other day.”

“By students and lieutenants,” Spark says. “I have to go over them as Team Leader to assure their accuracy.”

“Yeah, but _I_ checked them.” Go taps another few buttons on the tablet Spark holds–now uselessly, it seems–and pulls up a progress report. “See?” He points to his Academy ID and signature. “They were good. They’re still good. They don’t need to be checked again for another two days.”

Spark’s brow furrows as he stares at the progress report. “But you weren’t even assigned–” He stops, and his throat clicks when he swallows. “Why’d you review these stats?”

“Candela complains about them enough, so I know your rotations here,” Go answers easily. He tucks his arms around Spark’s waist again. “And I wanted more time with you this morning, but you took off before I could tell you about it.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” Spark says, lamely.

Go shrugs, then presses his lips against Spark’s shoulder. He mutters into his leather jacket, “It took me a while to muster the courage to find you.”

Spark’s laugh is a sudden bark of absurd amusement. When he turns in Go’s arms, he drapes his own over his shoulders and chuckles some more at his flushed cheeks and shyly averted eyes. He twirls Go’s hair between his fingers until he meets his gaze. “You’re ridiculous,” Spark murmurs, fond, and kisses him.

Go nearly drags Spark onto his toes with how tightly he holds him, how he eliminates nearly every atom space between them. He sighs into Spark’s kiss, and whines when Spark coaxes his mouth open with his clever tongue.

And as much as Spark would love to push this towards more fulfilling ends, he’s pleasantly satisfied with Go’s enthusiastic response to his affections. Besides, there’s still work to do.

Reluctantly, Spark pulls away from Go’s hungry mouth, flushed and breathless. “Though I appreciate your _altruistic_ intentions and the time you’ve volunteered for the rookery, there’s always more to be done. I have to see to it.” He smiles when Go frowns. “And don’t you have classes today?”

“Free day,” Go mumbles.

Spark hums skeptically, but doesn’t lecture Go on cutting class. Instead, he says, “There are eggs scheduled to be walked today. I was going to do it, but it could save me some time if I had someone to take care of it. I could finish revising these reports faster and–”

“I’ll do it,” Go offers immediately. “Will it get you out of here faster?”

With a shrug, Spark says, “Maybe, as long as nothing catastrophic comes up. The rookery isn’t the only thing on my docket, though.”

“But it’ll speed your day along.”

Spark shrugs again. “Maybe.”

“And you’ll return to your suite earlier than scheduled.”

“Possibly.”

“Then I could–”

“You’re going to get us caught with how often you abandon your dorm,” Spark chides playfully.

Go huffs, annoyed. “It’s not like visitation works the other way around. It’s a lot less conspicuous for me to sneak out than it is for you to sneak in.”

Spark concedes with a nod. “You make a good point.”

The automatic doors to the rookery open with a distinct whoosh, and the pair of them automatically jerk apart to a respectable distance. Go’s expression is one of obvious disappointment, and Spark clears his throat awkwardly.

“Well,” he says, “there are those eggs, if you’re looking for something to do.” He eyes the small group of students who sign into the rookery for, what Spark assumes is, their mandated hours. They don’t pay them any mind yet, for which he’s grateful.

“Sure,” Go says. He makes an aborted move as if to kiss Spark in parting, but remembers himself and their unexpected company just a quickly.

Spark offers him a sympathetic smile. “Check in with me when you’re finished?”

“Of course.”

“Spark!”

He’s been noticed.

Go stands aside as the students approach, but he doesn’t linger. As he brushes past Spark’s shoulder he murmurs softly, “I’ll see you tonight,” and Spark barely contains a shiver.

Spark’s gaze follows Go as he collects the eggs and their incubators, but he can’t watch him for long; the gaggle of students surrounds him with bright smiles and large curious eyes, and he’s obligated to entertain them and their questions.

 

###

 

“Spark?”

He looks up from tending to a particularly weak egg, one that, when he’s in the rookery, he specifically dedicates time to doting over. Candela stands at the threshold of the rookery for only a moment before weaving through the various rows of eggs. There’s a hurried edge to her step, but her usual, commanding grace is absent. Spark stands to meet her, immediately concerned.

“Candela,” he says. “What’s going on?”

“Have you seen my brother?”

Spark, miraculously, keeps the guilty flush from his cheeks. Instead, he furrows his brow to feign confusion, even as the first thrums of adrenaline pulse through his veins. “Earlier,” he says, honestly. “Stopped by to pick up some eggs to walk.”

“How long ago?”

The rookery doesn’t have windows. The sunlight is artificial and just as meticulously controlled as the rest of the environment. When Spark works–or hides, as Candela likes to say–there, he typically sets an alarm to remind him to leave, to at least try to keep his over-booked schedule. The attention he typically spared to set the day’s schedule had, instead, been spent in his bed with Go.

Spark checks his phone and–

It’s been nearly ten hours. He’s been in the rookery for almost ten straight hours.

_What the fuck?_

“Spark?”

Swallowing thickly, Spark says, “Maybe ten hours ago.”

“Fuck!” Candela paces the small area between eggs and rakes her shaking hands through her hair.

“What’s–”

“Did he say where he was going? With the eggs?”

Spark shakes his head. “No, but I don’t suspect he went anywhere off-route. He doesn’t strike me as a student prone to infractions, especially with eggs.” After a beat, he adds, “Why?”

“I can’t find him anywhere,” Candela hisses. “And he isn’t answering his phone. No one has seen him or Rudy all day.”

Rudy, Go’s pikachu. Though Spark rarely saw the pokemon when he and Go were together, he knows Rudy is Go’s most faithful companion, much like how Stormy is to him. He’d seen them in the halls of the Academy often enough–Go, with his easy smile and Rudy happily perched on his shoulder.

“Is it possible he’s avoiding you?” Spark cautiously suggests. “You are siblings, after all.”

At that, Candela deflates somewhat. “He’s been secretive lately,” she says, avoiding Spark’s gaze. As Valor’s Team Later, Candela rarely has the luxury to show weakness, even to he and Blanche. They had to be strong for their teams, and for each other; it’s the burden they all bear. “As kids, we rarely kept things from one another, but something’s different about him the last few weeks.”

 _Since we fucked in the storage closet_ , Spark’s subconscious suggests unhelpfully.

“He’s disappearing at all hours–my lieutenants have seen him wandering the grounds late at night–and he’s been missing classes, which he never used to do. I don’t–I’m worried about him, but he won’t tell me anything. And now this?”

“He’s young,” Spark says, though he’s barely Go’s elder himself. Hell, _Candela_ is older than Spark. “Could just be a rebellious stage.”

“Did he return the eggs?” Candela asks, hopefully.

Spark doesn’t even have to check to know: he hadn’t. Go would have greeted him with a kiss and a promise of more later that night if he had; Go never came. “No,” he says softly.

“He wouldn’t be ‘rebellious’ with–”

“I know,” Spark says. After tapping his tablet a few times, he asks, “Have you brought this to Blanche yet?”

“No,” Candela answers, and the worry in her eyes breaks Spark’s heart. He hopes the same worry isn’t reflected in his own expression, though he feels it in his bones. Candela doesn’t know about he and Go, and Spark isn’t about to reveal their–relationship?–to her on his own, not now with Go possibly missing.

“The Academy has procedures for this sort of thing,” Spark says in an attempt to sound reassuring. He drags his hand down the length of Candela’s arm until it hangs loosely around her wrist. After a beat, he slides it further into her hand and squeezes. “Blanche will know what to do.”

Candela nods, but doesn’t withdraw her hand.

Spark leads her out of the rookery. Stormy meets them outside, along with Candela’s flareon, Kin–pokemon aren’t permitted near the eggs–and the four of them wind their way through the quiet Academy halls to Blanche’s suite. Spark never lets go of Candela’s hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Upon entering Blanche’s suite, Candela wrenches her hand from Spark’s and plows through the foyer into the main living space. There, she paces restlessly enough to burn a trench into the floor, and Blanche worries she’ll do just that as she watches Candela’s anxious movements. Beside Candela, Kin paces just as worriedly for a few moments before leaping onto Candela’s shoulder. When Candela buries her fingers in Kin’s fluff, she seems to breathe easier.

Spark does too, because Candela’s anxiety only feeds his own, but unlike Candela, he doesn’t have the liberty of expressing it. Stormy seems to sense how deeply he’s affected; she presses close against Spark’s calf, a warm line of familiar comfort. Instead of reaching to pet her, or inviting her onto his shoulder, Spark crosses his arms and digs into the leather of his jacket until it creaks.

With patience as one of her most prevalent virtues, Blanche waits quietly for Candela to gather her thoughts, to find the words and string them into coherent sentences. Once Candela does, how woefully little they know becomes glaringly obvious.

“So Go’s been gone for several hours and no one’s successfully contacted him?” Blanche asks after Candela falls silent.

With a helpless nod, Candela says, “Yeah.”

Blanche turns to Spark, and he flinches beneath the intensity of her stare. “Have _you_ tried contacting him?”

Candela sputters indignantly. “Why would that matter?”

Dropping his gaze, Spark clenches his jaw for the faintest of moments before he answers, “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, try,” Blanche seamlessly orders. “He might answer your call.”

“And why’s that?” Candela demands. “I’m his _sister_.”

“Exactly,” Blanche counters. “You’re his sister. He’s reason to ignore your calls. Siblings and such.”

Spark breathes a soft sigh of relief for her innocuous explanation. He pulls his phone from his pocket and calls Go’s phone. It rings monotonously, then abruptly disconnects. He sends a few text messages he hopes read as casual, though he admits to his worry. “No answer when I called,” Spark reports. “So I messaged him. We’ll see if he gets back to me.”

Unsatisfied, Candela pinches the bridge of her nose. “What do we do in the meantime? I can’t just–He’s been in battles before,” she urges. “Rocket knows his face, and his strengths. What if–”

“It does you no good to jump to such horrendous conclusions,” Blanche says. She sits at the head of her dining table, where the surface is covered in neat piles of paperwork and stacks of books. Her vaporeon, who’d been calmly waiting along the fringes of their conversation, leaps into her lap. She pets Naia’s head, smoothing her thumb over her large ears.

Spark offers, “But it isn’t outside of the realm of possibility. We should plan for the worst.” He checks his phone, but he’s received no new messages, no new calls. The screen is despairingly blank, and the pit yawning in his gut tears wider. Stormy bristles at his side, reflecting his budding insistence.

“We also can’t frivolously waste Academy resources in the event Go is just being avoidant,” Blanche counters, smoothly.

Candela pleads, “Blanche–”

But Spark interrupts her with, “What about our own resources?”

Narrowing her eyes, Blanche measures Spark with a piercing intuitiveness that always rattles him. Softly, she asks, “What are you suggesting?”

Even Candela’s interest is peaked with Spark’s sudden ferocity. She watches him with something like hope. They tend to default to Blanche’s leadership on Academy matters, so for Spark to challenge her is…different, to say the least. Spark doesn’t care, though. It’s Go they’re talking about, and regardless of what he means to Spark, it’s well known Go is Candela’s brother–he’s a desirable target no matter what.

“The Birds,” Spark says simply.

Blanche scoffs. “Don’t you think it’s a little beneath them to–”

“Not at all,” Spark snaps. “Or are you not as connected to Articuno?”

The accusation drives Blanche’s gaze downward and an uncharacteristic flush to her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Spark immediately apologizes. “I just know–Zapdos would help me in any endeavor I brought to him.”

“Moltres is the same for me,” Candela adds. “She…understands me.”

“You’re their emissaries,” Blanche sighs, rubbing her temple. “Technically, there’s nothing stopping you from approaching them.”

“Unity is paramount between them,” Spark pushes. “Articuno has to give her blessing before either Zapdos or Moltres can act.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “You have to implore her on our behalf.”

“Blanche, please,” Candela all but begs.

But Blanche doesn’t respond immediately.

Her moments of contemplation send Spark’s pulse thundering in anticipation of rejection. Already, he considers the consequences of approaching Zapdos, of urging him to action despite Articuno’s possible disagreement. The balance between the three would be thrust onto the knife-edge of uncertainty. Spark’s credibility and integrity as Team Instinct’s Leader would be called into question. He’d have to face Professor Willow, and whatever shame came with disappointing his grandfather further.

As he plummets down that rabbit hole, it becomes apparent none of it matters. In that moment, Spark realizes the world could burn, and so long as Go was safe, Spark would withstand the blaze. Overcome and overwhelmed, he stares at his boots and clamps a hand over his mouth to stifle the anguished sound clawing at the back of his throat.

_Not now!_

His hand trembles. He can wail in Zapdos’ cloister. He can fall apart against his crackling feathers, and collapse in on himself like a dying star once he’s well and away from his fellow Team Leaders.

“Very well,” Blanche says suddenly, jarring Spark from his world-upending revelation. “I’ll seek council with Articuno and bring you her Word tomorrow morning. I understand the situation is urgent, but we must remain faithful to our duties as Team Leaders despite it. As important as Go is, our roles are greater than just the ones we play for him.” She glances sidelong at Spark as she weighs her thoughts.

Spark nods numbly. “I understand,” he says automatically.

Candela heaves a shaky breath before sniffling and scrubbing her face. “Thank you, Blanche. You– _thank you_.”

“Meditate and beseech your Birds,” she instructs. “We’ll convene here in the morning to develop our plan moving forward.”

“Copy,” Spark says.

They leave together as they arrived together, though Spark doesn’t reach for Candela’s hand and Candela hovers a half-step behind Spark. When Blanche’s door shuts behind them, Spark makes to immediately meet with Zapdos. He’s ready to fly apart at the seams, and it’s only within the cloister that he ever feels safe enough to shatter. He jumps, nearly breaks right there, when Candela suddenly takes his hand.

He swallows and turns to face her, praying his face betrays none of his inner turmoil.

“I can’t believe you want to use the Birds. You’re really okay with Zapdos helping find my brother?” she asks quietly, fierce eyes so soft in this time of need. She releases his hand and hugs herself instead. Kin, still on her shoulder, nuzzles her face, but she takes no comfort in the gesture.

“Of course,” Spark answers readily. “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”

“Will Zapdos…?” Candela hesitates, then tries again. “I know Moltres will help. My bond with her is strong, but I never even considered–and the others…”

“You now my history with Zapdos, Candela,” Spark says gently. “If any of the Birds will keenly heed their emissary, it’s Zapdos with me. You know it.”

“And you’ll do it? You’ll really help find Go?”

“Candela,” Spark sighs. “Why are you doubting me? Have I ever–” He stops before he finishes the sentence, because the rhetorical question would have fallen flat. He has disappointed his fellow Team Leaders in the past. He’s let down his grandfather and shamed his parents’ memory and has even brought his uncle embarrassment. “Nevermind,” he says instead. “I’ll help you find Go, as much as I’m able, and Zapdos is an extension of my intention in that. Okay? I promise.”

“Why?” she asks. She’s so desperate for answers, she questions everything–even Spark’s motives. Never, in all the years he’s known her, has Spark seen her so distraught. “We’re not close. Why would you…?”

“We’re colleagues,” he says lamely, then winces by how disconnected the statement is. They aren’t just colleagues. They’re something more–Team Leaders, friends, family–or something altogether different. “No,” he corrects. “That’s not it.” He takes a breath and combs back his unruly hair. “Look, there are a hundred reasons for me to help. We are colleagues–that’s true–but you’re also my friend, and my teammate, and a fellow emissary, and Team Valor’s very qualified Leader. But the most important reason, I think, is that Go is your brother. I don’t have siblings, but I know what it’s like to lose family, okay? I don’t want you to lose him. Not if I can help it.”

He stiffens and sucks a startled breath when Candela suddenly, boldly, hugs him.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and how she teeters on the brink of tears is evident in the tremor of her voice. The longer she clings to him, however, the closer she gets to falling; and suddenly, she’s crying against Spark’s shoulder.

Instinct takes over, and he wraps his arms around her, tight and grounding. Part of him aches to share in her grief, but it isn’t rightly his to share. No one knows who Go is to Spark, and there are countless reasons for such secrecy. He settles for rubbing Candela’s back and collecting her broken pieces as she falls apart in his arms. The leather of his jacket squeaks as she twists her fingers in it, and his neck and shoulders become damp with her tears, but he just rubs her back and gently shushes her.

“We’ll find him, Candela,” he promises. “We’ll find him.”

 

###

 

_“Will you introduce me to Zapdos one day?”_

_Spark looks over his bare shoulder, startled by the question just before ducking into his shirt. He arches an eyebrow and snickers._

_Go lays beautifully stretched out in the rumpled sheets of Spark’s bed, shamelessly naked and watching Spark dress. They’d burned another night’s moonlight with tangled limbs and panting, gasping mouths, and Spark has never been so trilled to lose sleep in his life._

_“I’ve never met one of the Birds before,” Go explains._

_Spark reaches for where his jacket is draped over the arm of a chair and shrugs into it. “Candela’s never introduced you to Moltres?”_

_Shaking his head, Go purses his lips before flopping back onto the mattress and folding his arms behind his head. “She said it’d be a form of nepotism. Almost no one meets the Birds, not even the most exceptional trainers and lieutenants, or so I’m told.”_

_Spark scoffs. “They’re just pokemon. That’d be like me refusing to let you meet Stormy.”_

_“So you’ve let everyone meet Zapdos?” Go challenges. He rolls onto his side and props his head in his hand, a smug smirk on his kiss-swollen lips. Spark tramps the urge to pin Go down and bite them._

_“No, of course not,” he says thoughtfully. After a moment’s pause, he adds, “I’ve never introduced anyone to him, actually. Huh.”_

_“And why not?”_

_“It would be an abuse of power as his emissary,” Spark says impulsively. “It–” He turns to Go with a furrowed brow, frowning in concentration. “I have a unique relationship with Zapdos, and he’s a unique pokemon. To make him endure being a novelty to curious students, to show him off like some pride-worthy prize…it’s disrespectful to him. He’s incredible, don’t misunderstand, but he’s so much more than what he represents to the masses, you know? He’s–I don’t know. He’s Zapdos.”_

_Go’s smile is soft, his eyes warm. He says, “I understand. I’m sorry I asked.”_

_“Don’t be,” Spark answers quickly. He’d never considered the prospect until Go brought it up, and it appeals to him–strikingly so. His imagination jumps to the amazement in Go’s stunning eyes to come face to face with Zapdos, to share something so special as one of the Birds with him…it stirs something in Spark’s chest he’s too cowardly to name. “There’s no harm in asking. And, you know, maybe one day, okay? If Zapdos is agreeable, I see no reason why you couldn’t meet him.”_

_“You’ll ask?” Go asks, surprised._

_Spark snorts, then turns his back to Go’s hopeful expression and snaps the lapels of his jacket. “I’m not making any promises. Zapdos is an independent and powerful entity. My influence on him is woefully limited.”_

_“But you’ll ask,” Go pushes._

_“No promises!” Spark says, though notes of involuntary laughter shatter his attempt at Strict Team Leader. “Get dressed,” he says a moment later. “You have class.”_

 

###

 

Spark carries Candela’s grief like a tangible weight as he trudges through the night-silent Academy to Zapdos’ holy cloister, and he snorts blasphemously at the notion of Zapdos being holy. He’s a pokemon just like any other–significantly older and more powerful, but still a pokemon. Perhaps his lack of reverence is due to his overexposure. Spark grew up within regular contact to Zapdos, even mistaking him for a lesser, more common pokemon in his youth.

The automatic door slides open after his hand print is recognized by the lock’s sensor, and the scent of ozone hits him as squarely as brick to the face. Beside him, Stormy shifts uncertainly–though Spark’s respect for Zapdos doesn’t touch reverence, Stormy’s does. He kneels beside her and scratches behind her ears with both hands.

“I’m spending the night in here,” he explains. “You can stay out here if you want, or return to the suite. We’re meeting at Blanche’s in the morning, if you want to find me then.”

She chirps stubbornly, brow furrowed, then she leaps against Spark’s chest, forcing him to catch her. He nearly falls back with the unexpected force.

“I know,” he mumbles into her fur. “But I’ll be alright. Once I know Go’s safe, I’ll be alright. Tell the other pokemon what’s going on for me, okay? I’ll need their help, too.” He presses a kiss between her large, pleading eyes, then sets her back down. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Stormy huffs, but bows her head in reluctant acknowledgement.

He kisses the crown of her lowered head, and with a parting stroke of her fur, he straightens and enters Zapdos’ cloister. The door closes behind him once he crosses the threshold, and electricity arcs around it.

Spark’s eyes burn like tears, as they do whenever in Zapdos’ presence, and he knows his naturally blue irises have been replaced with rings of gold. Truth be told, he’d been on the verge of tears the moment he and Candela parted, so when warm drops track his cheeks, he doesn’t bother wiping his face.

In the center of the vast, stone-walled room, Zapdos sits expectantly. The air around him crackles with static electricity, sometimes flaring off his dramatic plumage in bolts or sparks. Despite what’s recorded in the pokedex, he’s magnificently large–at least a head and a half taller than Spark, and even without the charge in the air, he exudes sheer power. The Bird shifts, turns to face Spark’s approach, and though his dark-ringed eyes aren’t as conventionally expressive as, say, Stormy’s, concern lingers within them.

_You’re distraught_. Zapdos’ voice is a deep thrum in Spark’s mind, like gentle waves on a distant shore.

Spark takes a wracking breath and nods. Impulse rushes him across the cloister, and unceremoniously into Zapdos’ throne-like nest. He’s welcomed with an open wing and tucked protectively against pale, downy feathers. Pressing his face there, he shudders beneath a wave of sobs. His grief, and what he carries of Candela’s, ruthlessly crushes him while he cowers within Zapdos’ protection.

He’s the Leader of Team Instinct, emissary to Zapdos, and he’s never felt so utterly powerless.

Go kidnapped. Go hurt. Go _gone._

_Your mate?_

“He isn’t my mate,” Spark answers, throat tight.

Zapdos’ narrow beak knocks him sharply on the chin. The Bird is unimpressed. _He’s all you think about._

“He’s not my mate,” Spark insists.

_He’s gone._

Heaving a wracked breath, Spark says, “Yeah.”

_He abandoned you?_

“No!” Spark says it so quickly, he nearly shouts. “No,” he says, softer. “He–we think he’s missing. Maybe kidnapped.”

Zapdos doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, he tucks his beak somewhere in the nest Spark can’t see, then withdraws Spark’s plush childhood blanket. The one Spark squirreled away in Zapdos’ nest while Professor Willow still lead Team Instinct. The one he hid under when he was loneliest or most upset, and took with him when he sought solace and safety. Zapdos drapes it over Spark’s shoulders with practiced ease. _You wish for my assistance._ Zapdos drags his beak through Spark’s wild hair, grooming him, soothing him.

“Yes,” Spark says. Go’s absence aches, but Zapdos’ familiar efforts to comfort him drag a weak, pained smile to his face, even though tears still track his face. He settles against his warm side and pulls the blanket more tightly around his shoulders, submitting to the Bird’s will.

“I’m sorry to–”

_I will find your mate for you, Spark._

He grumbles petulantly, “He’s not my mate.” Sniffling, he wipes his face with the edge of the blanket. It smells like ozone and Zapdos’ soft under-feathers. It smells like home, but from another time.

Now home smelled like sex-sweat, obnoxiously masculine body spray, and the sunshine caught in dark hair after hours of walking eggs.

_You spend every moment you can with him, and those you can’t, you spend thinking of him. His disappearance has you distraught. You’ve chosen him for your affections. He is your mate_.

Spark opens his mouth to argue, but stops when Zapdos gives his hair a light tug in reprimand.

_I will find him for you. And I will protect him for you._

With a shuddering breath, Spark says, “Okay.” He cups the side of Zapdos’ face and presses his forehead against the Bird’s temple. “Thanks, Fearow.”

 

###

 

His blood runs cold until his fingertips tingle, and his hearing muffles from the adrenaline rush triggered by Blanches’ decree. He’s struck so soundly, he can’t even muster the beginning embers of his outrage; he just grinds his teeth until they hurt.

Only Candela will be released from her duties to search for Go, but she’s to have full support and resources from both Articuno and Zapdos. Spark and Blanche, in her absence, will share her Team Leader responsibilities to Valor. If within four days’ time Go isn’t found, the Academy will launch a full-scale search for him.

“Those are the terms,” Blanche says. As if sensing Spark’s budding apprehension, she crosses her arms and fixes him with a particularly ruthless stare.

“But I’ve–” Candela looks imploringly between Blanche and Spark, and her eyes get glassy when Spark breaks eye contact with Blanche first. “I’ve never done anything like this.”

“You’re Team Valor’s Leader,” Blanche responds, turning her chilling gaze toward her. “And you’ll have the full power of all three Birds behind you. If Go is to be found, you’ll find him.”

“And if he isn’t?” Spark snarls.

“Why must you continue to presume this situation is so much worse than it may actually be?” Blanche bites back between clenched teeth. She waves her hand dramatically, and continues, “For all we know, Go’s just flagrantly challenging authority because of some spat with a Team Leader. Being petulant or rebellious certainly isn’t reason to raise every alarm.” Her thinly veiled accusation doesn’t go unnoticed by Spark, though Candela accepts the brunt of the burden if her downcast eyes and shame-flushed cheeks are any indication.

So Blanche knows–or at least suspects–something between he and Go.

“But being taken by Rocket is,” Spark snaps. He stands abruptly enough for his chair to fall behind him, and he’s a live-wire of barely-restrained anger.

“We don’t have any evidence–”

“And we don’t have any evidence to the contrary,” Spark viciously interrupts. He slams his fist against the table beside him. “Damn it, Blanche! You, of all people, should know how insidious Rocket can be. Four days is too long. Four days with Rocket and we’ll be recovering his body.”

Candela’s soft gasp is the only sound to shatter the sudden, heavy silence that descends on the room with all the grace of a hurled brick.

Blanche quivers with simmering rage on the verge of boiling over. “Get out,” she hisses.

Spark had anticipated as much, but he doesn’t make an immediate move to comply. Instead, he sneers, “We defer to your leadership out of respect, not out of necessity. We’ve been chosen, too. Don’t forget that.”

“Get out,” Blanche demands, her snarl trembling as much as her fisted hands.

With a snap of his fingers, Stormy leaps from her defensive stance at Spark’s side and onto his shoulder. He stares at Candela for a long moment, willing her to see what needs to be done, even if it’s behind Blanche’s back. There might be a flash of recognition, but he can’t be sure. Blanche has commanded him away, and he can’t linger long.

“I await your orders regarding Valor’s management in Candela’s absence.” Spark salutes Blanche sardonically and sees himself to the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Candela is ready to leave within an hour of Blanche’s decree, her pokemon and all three Birds in tow.

Blanche is quick to dispatch punishment for his insubordination in the form of Spark’s new assignments: Valor’s students and lieutenants. She reserves the administrative work–the paperwork and appraisals–for herself.

But just as quickly as Blanche formulated the reorganization of the Academy, Spark quickly developed his own plans of rebellion. It’s a decision he makes before he realizes he’s made it, investing far too much thought in how to utilize his own resources to find Go instead of how to simultaneously manage Valor and Instinct. It drags him far from the present whenever he can escape it in a quiet moment.

Spark defies Blanche further by seeing Candela off. They stand on the roof of the Academy, the large, flat space a sky hub of sorts for the Birds’ various cloisters. Articuno, Zapdos, and Moltres surround them, and their combined powers reverberate in a strange sort of harmony. Despite this, it’s still overwhelming, even for Spark.

He can only imagine how overwhelmed Candela must feel.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” she says. Her eyes are brilliant crimson–from proximity to Moltres–and Spark knows his own are shining gold so near Zapdos. “I never would have even considered asking for their help without your suggestion.”

Spark shrugs. “Zapdos and I have a special bond.” When he reaches out, Zapdos rubs the side of his face against his palm. “I can’t imagine not asking for his help with something like this.”

_I will find him_ , Zapdos promises Spark privately.

Candela hugs Spark again, though he’s prepared for it this time. He hugs her in return, squeezing her tight. She has no idea the fate of his breaking heart rides with her on Moltres’ wings.

He fights to keep his breath steady. What he wouldn’t give to go with her. It would be so much easier than the edge of decision upon which he stands. He knows he’ll jump, but falling terrifies him. The ramifications will be enormous. “Stay safe,” he tells her as she pulls away.

Moltres lowers her head and body, and Candela climbs atop her gracefully with practiced ease. “Zapdos and Articuno will keep you and Blanche informed of our progress,” she says.

She doesn’t know Spark had already made such arrangements with Zapdos, but he smiles and nods as if hearing it for the first time. “Good. Thank you.”

“I guess I’ll see you?”

Spark nods again. “See ya.”

 

###

 

Team Valor is a nightmare. They’re bold and brash, aggressive and abrasive; and they’re loud. In all his time as Team Instinct’s Leader, Spark had never seen Team Valor as chaotic as within the mere hours after he and Blanche announced Candela’s leave of absence. They barely managed to outline the temporary chain of command before being swarmed by Valor’s lieutenants, all of whom were ready to assume a misguidedly preconceived notion of Interim Team Leader.

“No,” Spark says for what feels like the thousandth time. “As I’ve already said, Blanche and I will be managing Team Valor’s affairs while Candela is away. There’s no need for you spearhead any sweeping changes.” He rubs his temples and sighs, and though the Valor lieutenant’s words are a barrage of sound against his already pounding head, none of his words register.

Right as Spark swears his head will explode, his own lieutenant–his second, in fact–intervenes.

“I think that’s enough for now,” Rylie says. She physically puts herself between Spark and the Valor lieutenant–a man whose name Spark can’t even recall. Rylie’s raichu’s cheeks crackle in warning from where he’s perched on his trainer’s shoulder. At Spark’s feet, Stormy also bristles.

“Fine!” he huffs, then storms out of Spark’s office.

“You alright, boss?” Rylie asks once he’s well and away. Her hand is a familiar weight where it falls on Spark’s shoulder, and Spark just sighs when her thumb digs keenly into the tension-tight muscle.

“No,” he answers honestly, lolling his head to the side. “I’m not alright.” He leans out of her reach then stands, and his spine pops in all the wrong ways when he stretches. “Would you mind–”

“Gavin’s already wrangling the rookery rounds, and Marcus is handling Instinct appraisals in your stead. Abilene’s set to oversee Instinct practice battles. You had a few gym inspections scheduled for this week, but I’m more than capable of evaluating them.”

Spark stares at her, aghast. His jaw may or may not be hanging open. When she smiles and a rosy pink dusts her cheeks, he imagines his expression to be an embarrassing one. He collects himself quickly, however, and says, “That’s–thank you. You’re incredibly efficient.”

She laughs lightly and shrugs. “I’m not your second for nothing.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” he all but whines. He wants to hug her, but instead, pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a note to give her a raise. Out of habit, he checks his messages and calls, and he still hasn’t received anything from Go.

He also hasn’t heard from Zapdos.

Spark’s sure, without a doubt, Go is well and truly missing. His chest aches.

Rylie shrugs and bites her lip. “Do you have any other concerns, boss?”

“No,” Spark says, tucking away his phone. “I, um, I guess I’ll be seeing to Valor since you have Instinct well managed.”

“Maybe you should see to yourself, first,” Rylie suggests gently.

“How so?”

“This was a really sudden shift within the Academy’s hierarchy,” she explains. “It’s a lot, and it’s obvious you didn’t have the luxury of planning. Ease into it, if you can, instead of letting it swamp you, you know? I can keep Instinct in line and Valor off your back for a while. Breathe, Spark. Regroup, then tackle this, okay?”

“Yeah,” Spark agrees absently. He winces as he rubs his brow–his headache refuses to quit. “Yeah, I’ll, um. I’ll just take some time and–yeah.”

“Call me if you need anything, boss.” Rylie turns to leave, but before she can exit his suite, Spark impulsively stops her.

“Actually–” When he swallows his throat clicks, but with it, he chokes down his apprehension and nervousness. Caution didn’t have to lead to fear, and he wouldn’t let it. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t raised to be _scared_.

She turns to him with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Prep my gyms,” Spark says, steadier than he feels. “I want my top trainers and their strongest pokemon ready at a moment’s notice. Diverse teams.”

“Boss?”

Waving his hand, Spark says, “Call it a–a drill. Have them ready to execute any order as top priority.”

“Understood,” Rylie says with a nod. Her expression, however, retains some healthy skepticism.

“Good.”

When she opens the door, Spark lets her leave.

 

###

 

“I never thought I’d need this,” Spark says. He coughs around dust bunnies and tufts of Stormy’s shedded fur, then bumps his head on the frame of the bed as he shimmies out from beneath it. He clutches the locked metal box with trembling hands.

Stormy chirps worriedly.

With a nervous laugh, Spark rummages through his nightstand for the key, then unlocks the box. “I don’t even know if I remember how to use it. Though–” He sighs and lifts the lid. The shiny M9 looks brand new, polished clean, nestled safely with its accompanying holster. When he pulls it out, its weight feels alarmingly familiar in his grip. “–I don’t want to do this.”

Tentatively, Stormy approaches Spark, eyeing the weapon warily. She rests a paw against his thigh and coos, ears twitching.

“Candela won’t find him on her own,” Spark says. He goes through the motions of slotting the ammo clip into place and cocks the weapon. He remembers. It makes him grimace, but his uncle’s thundering voice rolls through his thoughts unbidden, coaching him through it.

“He’ll be dead by the time she does,” he justifies.

Licking his lips nervously, he looks to Stormy. “Maybe if I’d been more willing to take such measures in the past–”

She interrupts him with a sharp bark. She’s puffed up and furious, static crackling around her threateningly.

“I know,” he says, and he sighs. “I know. I just…” With a gentle sweep of his hand, he urges Stormy off his lap, then climbs to his feet. He straps the holster to his thigh and tests its security by fetching the weapon’s ammunition from the top shelf of his closet.

He’s never told anyone about the gun; he’s mostly ashamed of it. As an army officer, however, his uncle had insisted he learn his way around firearms from an early age. Because of that, the responsibility was gravely serious to him, and Spark generally abstained from using such weapons. Just like he generally abstained from utilizing the _other_ lessons his uncle taught him during his youth.

But with Blanche tethering him to the Academy and burying him under work, with Candela’s inexperience in tracking, with how every moment Go was gone increased the likelihood that Go would be found dead…

Spark didn’t have a choice.

He discharges the clip from the weapon and fills it with ammunition before sliding it back into place. After holstering the weapon, he fills another five clips with ammunition and stows them in easily accessible pockets.

“I’ll need you with me,” he says, turning to Stormy. “And I’ll need Balto, too.”

Stormy snorts indignantly.

“But just the two of you. Will you fetch him for me? I have a call to make.”

Her sigh is long-suffering, and her pout is annoyed, but she gives a faint nod and heads to the door. It opens for her, then shuts behind her.

Alone, Spark frowns as he takes a seat at his desk and pulls up the halo-phone. Everything within him says not to make the call, but everything within him also recognizes its necessity–Go deserves, no, _needs_ , every ounce of Spark’s effort, and that includes every resource at his disposal. Even the ones his fellow Team Leaders weren’t exactly aware of. He takes a deep breath and wills his pounding heart to slow. _Just like taking aim_ , he reminds himself. He contacts the familiar number.

_Fire._

“Lieutenant Surge,” comes the gruff greeting. But then, “Spark.” And his grim expression brightens a bit, his crooked grin familiar.

Spark musters a smile, though he can feel its edges tremble. “Uncle Taran. I know it’s been a while, but I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything,” Surge says easily, and Spark regrets every weekend over the past several months he’d avoided calling him.

He regrets every bitter resentment and every harbored grudge. But of course his uncle would never hold him accountable for his irrational anger–he never did, even when Spark was young. His uncle’s love was unconditional in every sense of the word, and Spark didn’t deserve even an iota of it.

“I need your help.”

 

###

 

_The inauguration of Valor’s new Team Leader comes with the usual pomp and circumstance. Dressed in his Instinct formals, Spark watches Ariel entrust the future of Team Valor to Candela, a feisty young Valor trainer Moltres claimed as emissary–well, young by Valor Leader standards, anyway. He absently strokes Zapdos’ cheek where the Bird’s head hovers over his shoulder while Candela undergoes the Bonding to Moltres._

_The ceremony’s completion is met with a cacophony of cheers, and Candela is appropriately overwhelmed with her new position and power._

_He and Blanche make small-talk with Candela over the following feast, where they sit far and removed from the rest of the Academy’s students and staff; pedestalled like royalty. Spark generally detests the whole affair, though Candela seems amiable enough._

_Ariel remains with them for the evening, and will guide Candela through the more arduous aspects of assuming leadership in the coming weeks. But before the Team Leaders disband for the night, there’s a final formality they must uphold: the exchanging of pokemon._

_In ages past, the necessary harmony between the three Legendary Birds was symbolized by the exchanging of specialized pokemon between emissaries. Though each emissary had a strong resonance with pokemon of the same type as their Bird, there was a deep reverence for the understanding of the other Birds within the triad. It was about respect more than anything else, and ensuring a stable power balance._

_When Spark became Zapdos’ emissary, Ariel–Moltres’ emissary at the time–had given him a well-bred magmar. Blanche had given him a gyarados of similar pedigree._

_Spark anticipates meeting she, Ariel, and Blanche at the central rooftop of the Birds’ cloisters, per tradition. What he doesn’t expect is to find Candela holding a large cardboard box and her family beside her: her parents brimming with pride and a younger brother who appears strangely distraught._

_“Um…”_

_Candela smiles nervously. “Ariel said it was okay for them to come?”_

_Spark glances to Blanche to gauge her reaction, and when she seems unbothered by it, Spark shrugs. “Sure.”_

_“Um, this is my mom, Kirana, and my father, Cyrus,” Candela says. “Mom, Dad, meet Spark and Blanche, my fellow emissaries.”_

_Smiles and handshakes are exchanged._

_“And this is my brother, Go,” Candela continues. “He’ll be enrolling in the Academy within a year or two.”_

_Go gives Spark and Blanche a disinterested wave._

_“We hope he’ll follow in his sister’s footsteps,” Kirana says with a smile._

_But Go’s too focused on the box Candela holds, and suddenly Spark is, too. There’s faint rustling coming from within the cardboard, and tiny yips and whimpers accompany it._

_Blanche takes the reigns of the custom, as she usually does. “As Articuno’s emissary, I come bearing a lapras of renowned heritage. Please accept it as a token of solidarity.” She holds the pokeball out with both hands._

_Cheeks flush, Candela quickly thrusts the wriggling box into her brother’s arms and accepts Blanche’s gift with a bow of her head. “Thank you, Blanche.” She glances side-long at Ariel, who gives the barest of nods, then continues, “Through training this pokemon, I shall strive to understand and integrate the values of Mystic into my leadership of Valor.”_

_Though Go and the cardboard box are distracting, Spark isn’t so taken as to miss his cue as Instincts Leader. “As Zapdos’ emissary, I come bearing an electabuzz bred from the honed stock of Lt. Surge, Leader of the Vermilion Gym. Please accept it as a token of solidarity.”_

_Following Blanche’s example, Spark offers the pokeball to Candela with both hands._

_Candela accepts the pokeball with wide eyes. “Lt. Surge…he’s a legend.”_

_Spark smirks. “And you will be, too, as Moltres’ emissary.”_

_Ariel clears her throat._

_“Thank you,” Candela quickly stammers. “Through training this pokemon, I shall strive to understand and integrate the values of Instinct into my leadership of Valor.”_

_There’s a pause that dances along the cusp of awkward where Candela stares at the two new pokemon bestowed upon her. A gentle prodding from Ariel brings Candela back to the present._

_“Oh,” she says. “Um, as Moltres’ new emissary, I come bearing, er…” She glances to the box Go clutches tightly to his chest. With a nervous laugh, she says, “We breed growlithes, and these are the best of the most recent litter. I…wasn’t sure how this whole thing would work, so I figured you could pick the pup you like most?”_

_A rare smile spreads across Blanche’s normally stoic face, and Spark outright laughs._

_“Sounds good to me.”_

_Blanche is first to select her growlithe pup. The pokemon yips gleefully and wags its small, fluffy tail. There’s still a bit of daylight left, despite the setting sun, so as the growlithe pup burrows into Blanche’s jacket, she gravitates to where Candela stands with her parents and Ariel._

_As they talk, Spark approaches the box where Go sits cross-legged and grouching. He has his hand in the box, absently stroking the pups. Without preamble, Spark sits cross-legged opposite him with the box between them._

_There are still five pups left. Each of them wears a different colored collar, and when Spark puts his hand within their reach, all but one swarm his palm with eager tongues and nibbling teeth. There’s one with a yellow collar that immediately catches Spark’s attention._

_“They’re cute,” he says._

_“Yeah,” Go mumbles. The pup he pets wears the yellow collar. It’s a bit bigger than the others, Spark notes, and its black stripes are particularly, haphazardly jagged. They remind Spark of lightning bolts. Go pulls his hand away, and the pup joins its litter mates swarming Spark’s hand._

_“Your sister is Team Valor’s Leader, emissary to Moltres,” Spark says. “It’s a great honor. Most people would be ecstatic, but you don’t seem too thrilled.”_

_Go shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s okay,” he says. “She deserves it, sure.”_

_Yellow Collar shoves itself hard into the cardboard wall, so Spark collects it into his lap before it looses them all by destroying the box. He’s drawn to the pup, but isn’t sure he’ll choose it. It settles well enough into his lap and chews on the hem of his jacket sleeve. Its fur is so soft beneath his fingertips. “Then what’s got you down, kiddo?”_

_“What makes you think I’m not always like this?” Go challenges, expression more dower than previously._

_Spark grins easily. “Instinct,” he answers, and Go snorts where he tries not to laugh._

_After a moment’s trepidation, Go sighs and glances to where his family actively engages with Blanche. They don’t seem to pay them any mind, so he sighs and says, “One of these pups was supposed to be mine.”_

_Spark raises his eyebrows in surprise._

_“But Candela insisted the Team Leaders have first pick, even if it was the one I wanted.”_

_Frowning, Spark says, “Which pup?”_

_Go nods to the one in Spark’s lap._

_“Oh,” Spark says. He immediately collects the pup from his lap and moves to return it to the box, but Go shakes his head. Go’s arm across the top of the box stops Spark from putting the pup in it. “Go, I don’t want to take your pup.”_

_“You’re not,” Go says with a forced neutrality. “He went to you the moment I stopped distracting him. He’s not mine anymore.”_

_“Don’t be silly. I could just as easily choose another.”_

_Go glares at him, and Spark flinches beneath its harshness. “You don’t know anything about growlithes, do you?” he hisses._

_Because the pup squirms in his outstretched arms, Spark returns it to his lap, and it returns to chewing on his sleeve. Laughing nervously, he blushes–he can feel his cheeks heat–and says, “Actually, no. Fire-type isn’t my forte.”_

_Go rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t seem as annoyed. “Growlithes tend to choose their trainers, if given the opportunity, and we’ve bred ours to be particularly keen in that. Blanche’s chose her. He’s chosen you.” The unspoken ‘instead of me’ rings loudly between them. “You’re his trainer now.”_

_Something about Go’s resignation doesn’t sit well with Spark. “Did you name him?”_

_“It doesn’t matter,” Go says. He slides the box out of Spark’s reach, as if he doesn’t trust him not to return the pup with the yellow collar and snatch a different one. He’s not wrong to trust those instincts, because Spark would very much like to exchange pups if it means Go wouldn’t be so upset._

_“It does,” Spark insists. “It’s his name.”_

_“He’s your pokemon. Name him whatever you want.”_

_“Go.”_

_With furrowed brows and a grim frown, Go mutters, “Balto.”_

_Spark huffs, then lifts the pup to eye-level. To the growlithe lurching to lick his nose, he says, “Well, Balto, since Go is so set on you staying with me, I’ll make sure you’re the best you can possibly be. Even if you are fire-type. You’ll be my exception. Sound good?”_

_Balto yips, and his back end swings violently with his wagging tail._

_Setting Balto back into his lap, Spark shifts to pull a pokeball from the back of his belt. He’d brought two for Candela, uncertain of which would suit her best. He knows he made the right choice with the electabuzz, but he’s also selfishly glad to keep the pichu–it would grow into a powerful pokemon. Already, it showed signs of a wonderfully social disposition and, well…_

_“Here,” he says, holding the ball out to Go. “Take him.”_

_Confused, Go tentatively takes the pokeball from Spark. “What–?”_

_“Release him.”_

_Go does, and the pokeball opens with a loud pop. At the end of its erratic energy beam, a brilliant pichu suddenly stands, bright eyes wide in bewilderment. Its ears twitch nervously as it looks between Spark and Go._

_Spark tells the pichu, “This is Go. He’ll be taking care of you from now on.”_

_“I can’t accept this,” Go stammers. He looks over his shoulder–Spark follows his gaze–and yes, everyone is watching them with mixed expressions of surprise and horror._

_Well, Ariel is horrified. Blanche seems more amused. Candela is frankly, shocked._

_Go tries to recapture the pichu, but instead of returning to its pokeball, it drops to all-fours and scampers into his lap. Go keeps his hands well away from the pokemon._

_“Electric rodents are incredibly social and prefer to choose their trainers if they can,” Spark explains. “Not much different from a growlithe, as I understand it.” He smiles. “So, I guess you’ve been chosen as well. Don’t be surprised if he shocks you, though. He’s still young.” Working around Balto nibbling his sleeve, Spark pulls off his gloves and tosses them at Go._

_Go catches them without tearing his gaze from the imploring pokemon in his lap._

_“Insulated. Should help with the shocks.”_

_Go slides them on before carefully cupping the pichu’s cheeks. They pop with small bursts of static, but it doesn’t faze Go. The pichu seems exceptionally pleased and presses its face into Go’s hands._

_“Um,” Go starts. “What’s his name?”_

_“He doesn’t have one,” Spark answers. “I hadn’t bonded with him enough to figure out a good one for him.”_

_“You should name him,” Go says._

_“No,” Spark gently counters. “You should name him.”_

_“The sun’s nearly set,” Ariel announces, her voice abruptly cutting through whatever moment Go and Spark share._

_Spark collects Balto to his chest and launches himself to his feet with only the barest of stumbles. He laughs at himself, then smiles when Go looks up at him with an expression Spark can’t name. “Be sure stop by to see Balto sometime, okay? You gotta make sure I’m training him well. I’ll check your progress with your new pichu, too, yeah?”_

_Go just nods._

_Spark boldly winks at him. “Good meeting you, Go. Good luck with training.”_

 

###

 

Spark sits on the edge of the nest-like throne in Zapdos’ cloister, idly kicking his dangling legs. With Zapdos absent, Stormy and Balto sit in the cloister with him, both watching him with worry drawing their expressions.

Balto is an arcanine now–extraordinarily large for his species and remarkably powerful. He’s big enough for Spark to ride as a mount, and tall enough to nose Spark’s knee where he sits on Zapdos’ elevated throne-nest. Spark swears Balto’s development is due to the extensive involvement of both Candela and Go in his training, but neither sibling will admit to their contributions. It’s fine, though; Spark and Balto both know.

Stormy is perched on Balto’s head, and while they aren’t the best of friends, they’re compatible teammates. Together, they’re Spark’s strongest and most loyal pokemon.

He pets them intermittently, but ultimately lets his hands flop into his lap. Their apprehension is clear–pokemon, as a general rule, aren’t fans of weapons. There’s something innately in them that shirks away from the sight of them, that sends them running when they fire; probably something from eons back in their evolution. Spark imagines pokemon understand the pain and injury that comes from fighting one another, but a firearm is something completely different, completely human and altogether alien.

Spark is terrifyingly armed even by human standards.

He has an AR10 rifle slung over his back and the M9 strapped his thigh. At his uncle’s behest, he traded his leather jacket for something darker with an armored vest beneath it, and his black pants for standard military pants that allow him quieter, more varied movement. His boots are also heavier, sturdier, and he as a buck knife tucked against his ankle.

Two thoughts keep him from trembling beneath the weight of his weaponry. The first and foremost is Go–Go’s safety, the necessity to find him and bring him home. The second is the auxiliary assistance he’d arranged with his uncle’s help. No less than six electric gyms are primed and ready for Spark’s order, and his uncle organized a team of specialists to intervene if Spark finds the situation more than he can handle. Though the ever confident Lt. Surge swears Spark will be just fine.

Spark doesn’t feel fine.

He honestly feels sick.

His eyes burn with Zapdos’ approach. He doesn’t move from where he sits, but Balto and Stormy slink away into the farthest corner of the cloister. Spark sometimes wonders what unnerves them more: Zapdos himself, or Zapdos’ effect on him. He’s seen his reflection when near the Bird. His golden eyes are disconcerting, even to himself.

Zapdos’ large wings kick up dust and ripple through Spark’s hair, but he lands upon his throne-nest without disturbing him. Spark can’t bear to look at him.

_You’re prepared for battle._

“I’m prepared for a hunt,” Spark corrects, because finding Go is easier to think about than possibly having to fight to get to him. “I know you didn’t find him.”

_Today was an exercise in futility. Candela lacks the skills necessary to effectively find your mate._ He pauses. _But you knew this._

“Will you help me search?”

_Articuno does not approve._

“I don’t care,” Spark says, ashamed at the bitter truth of it. He’s so beyond caring about power balances and responsibility to the world–he just wants Go safe. He wants Go home. He wants Go alive.

_Then neither do I._ He lowers his head for Spark to climb atop him, which Spark does without hesitation. _Come, my brethren. I’ll not harm you. We are one in this endeavor._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lots of blood and violence and death. if this makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip to chapter 5, where the events here in chapter 4 are recapped.
> 
> also, [wingedraindbowmarshmallow](http://wingedrainbowmarshmallow.tumblr.com/) made this [fanatically detailed art](http://wingedrainbowmarshmallow.tumblr.com/post/151846221650/picture-based-off-of-a-gospark-fic-too-good-by) for one of the key moments of this chapter. make sure to like and follow because they've been so supportive and encouraging of me through this endeavor.

Riding Zapdos reminds Spark of his uncle’s stories–fighting in The War, piloting an aircraft capable of leveling entire cities. He thinks of explosions and smoldering rubble and the unfathomable distance between he and the ground. He hides his face in Zapdos’ static-fluffy feathers to save his cheeks from wind burn and clutches tightly with white-knuckled hands and trembling thighs as they race through the rough terrain surrounding the Academy.

When Spark dares to peek over Zapdos’ shoulder, he sees Balto charging at a remarkable pace on the ground below them. If he squints, Stormy’s frequent flashes of electricity indicate her perch between Balto’s shoulder blades. It’s Balto they follow.

“How far did you search?” Spark asks over the whipping wind, but he doesn’t really have to raise his voice. Zapdos can hear him easily.

_Perhaps a three kilometer radius around the Academy. A thorough combing with a focus on walking routes. We found no identifiable sign of him._

Spark scoffs. Either Candela let her desperation cloud her judgement, or she wasn’t as familiar with her brother’s habits as she claimed. Go rarely, if ever, wandered near the Academy. He tended to find the longest, least repetitive paths to walk eggs, and tried to cover his tracks. Spark knows–of course he does–because he showed Go those paths and how to hide his walking them. Often, Spark met him there when they wanted a change of scenery for their fucking.

Fucking.

Was that what they did? Could Spark really reduce his time with Go to something so basic, so animalistic as _fucking_? Though they sometimes met in the woods, Spark often came prepared with a bag packed with a blanket and snacks. They’d picnic before finally succumbing to the urgency of getting naked; and Spark always made sure Go fully recovered before letting him leave his company. When Go crept through the night to Spark’s suite, they’d exchange stories of their day between kisses, laughing and joking until one of them finally pushed the other to lust.

Balto bellows a mournful howl–it jars Spark from his wistful reflection. Zapdos dives hard and fast in answer, plummeting towards the ground before expanding his enormous wings to slow their descent. A few violent flaps, and he lands mere meters from where Balto and Stormy investigate a clearing.

Spark leaps from Zapdos’ back and joins his pokemon. Balto snuffles deep in nearby bushes, and when Spark digs through its branches, he finds a familiar visor. This is why Balto had to come–Balto knew Go’s scent as well as Spark’s. Balto was just as dedicated to Go as he was to Spark.

Spark drops to his knees and sits back on his haunches. His eyes sting with more than Zapdos’ presence, and his cheeks track with hot tears. “Fuck,” he chokes, clutching the visor to his chest. “I knew it.” He sniffles, then scrubs his face. He can’t help how his voice cracks, but he can refrain from completely falling to pieces. Climbing to his feet, he says, “Search the area for anything else. Go had four eggs with him. If we can find any sign of them, we’ll figure out what Rocket was after.” He clips Go’s visor to his belt and walks over to Zapdos.

Zapdos lowers his head so Spark can rest his forehead against him. Cupping the Bird’s cheeks, Spark breathes deeply and closes his eyes in an effort to regain his composure. He takes what he needs–just a moment, just a few heartbeats, then he pulls away and joins Stormy and Balto in their search.

They find claw marks in the ground and splintered pieces blown out of tree trunks. Several booted foot prints stand out from other prints of athletic shoes Go typically wears. Pokemon tracks scatter about and overlap–there are too many to count and identify. There’s nothing to be found about the eggs–no shell fragments, no broken incubators.

Maybe it was a robbery gone wrong. Spark knows Go would never surrender the eggs in his charge, knows he’d fight with everything in him to protect them. And once Go fatigued, outnumbered and surrounded, his assailants took him along with the eggs. Or so Spark hopes.

Balto suddenly whines, and when Spark investigates his newest finding, he recognizes blood.

“Is there a trail?” Spark asks Balto.

The arcanine gives a low, affirmative _boof_.

“Through the forest, right?”

Balto nods.

“Fearow–?”

_I’ll watch you from above._

“Thanks.” Spark scratches the thick fur around Balto’s neck. “Mind if I hitch a ride, buddy?” And when Balto kneels willingly, Spark hops onto his back. Stormy trots over to them and leaps onto Balto’s back, then onto Spark’s shoulder. “Let’s find Go.”

 

###

 

Balto finally slows after nearly two hours of running.

Spark can’t even calculate how far away from the Academy they are when they finally stop. The forest is thick here, naturally overgrown and dark, so dark, without the faint glow of the moon and stars. He regrets not bringing the night vision goggles his uncle had suggested.

When Balto stops, Spark scratching his scruff again, then slides off him. He lands low and silent onto the forest floor. He squints through the darkness, and there, just barely visible, is a break in the treeline that leads to a clearing. Spark creeps towards it with careful steps.

Peeking through a gap in the foliage, Spark recognizes the faint outline of a gym–a water gym, if he’s not mistaken. It’s dilapidated and half collapsed on the southern end, and the twisting shock of recognition settles low in his gut. He knows _exactly_ where he is in relation to the Academy–several kilometers out– because this outdated gym was scheduled to be demolished _months_ ago.

_The hell?_

But then, the burning in Spark’s eyes suddenly fades. Fleeting panic tightens his chest–Zapdos has flown far enough away to no longer affect him. Probably to stay out of sight while Spark…does what he needs to do, but it makes him uneasy and his hands twitchy. He swings his rifle from where it rests against his back and attaches a suppressor to the barrel before bracing the stock against his shoulder.

The attached scope improves his sight immensely. With it, he notes a pair of Rocket– _Just as I thought_ –guards, their belts lined with pokeballs. He doesn’t see any pokemon patrolling, but that doesn’t necessarily mean there _aren’t_. Spark takes a deep breath and whispers to Balto, “I hope you don’t think less of me for this.”

_“Breathe, Spark,” his uncle had said, “and aim. Pull the trigger when you exhale.”_

Thunder cracks, loud and booming, above him.

Spark breathes, then pulls the trigger. One shot. One kill. He shifts before the second guard can react and pulls the trigger again. One shot. One kill.

The suppressor doesn’t silence his shots, but it quiets them. Zapdos’ thunder masks the rest of what could be heard.

He keeps the weapon readied as he moves forward, through the clearing and to the two downed– _dead_ –guards. He unclasps their pokeballs from their belts and stashes them in his pack before checking the door they protected. Behind him, Balto and Stormy proceed more cautiously, guarding Spark’s back.

The door is weak, the lock decayed and loose from neglect. He presses his hand against it and it has remarkable give, bowing beneath the pressure. After glancing around the clearing once more, Spark rears back and slams his foot into the door, quickly ducking away from the opening to avoid possible enemies within. With his weapon at the ready, he peeks into the entrance and finds…

Nothing.

Cautiously, he peers through the scope of his rifle and still doesn’t find anything threatening. He steps inside.

The interior of the gym is deceptively large compared to its humble exterior, but Spark expects as much from a water gym. There’s depth to the algae-covered water that constitutes nearly the entirety of the interior, and moss and mildew cover the walls. Only the scarcest of walkways allow a person to navigate the gym, and even these concrete paths are cracked and crumbling.

He takes a mere three steps into the gym before a single spotlight booms to life. Somewhere above him, someone has turned it on–or worse, he’s tripped a trigger he hadn’t seen. At the end of its hot, bright beam is–

“Go!”

Strapped to a chair at the far end of the battle area, Go’s body is limp, almost lifeless. Spark prays he’s just unconscious. But even across the gym, Spark recognizes the rust-red stains on Go’s clothes, the pool around his chair, the splatter that extends from it.

Spark snarls. Rage wells within him, the intimately familiar heat filling his chest and bleeding into his trembling limbs; adrenaline, sharp and powerful, quickly follows. He knows this is a trap. He _knows_ , but he doesn’t _care_. He sprints across the gym to Go.

When Spark reaches him, he slings his rifle over his shoulder and grabs Go by the chin, turning his head this way and that. He checks his pulse. It beats steadily beneath his fingertips, and Spark breathes a sigh of relief. He pats Go’s cheeks and indulgently strokes back his matted hair. “Go? Go. Wake up. I need you to wake up.” Spark yanks the knife from his boot and slashes through Go’s bindings.

There are abrasions and bruises once the ropes fall free, signs Go fought against being tied, and each new mark Spark finds simply compounds the growing squall of his anger.

Go groans, soft and pained, and his eyes flutter to life. “Spark…?”

“Hey,” Spark answers, throat tight. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m here.”

“What are you–?”

Balto’s sudden, desperate warning bark breaks Spark’s focus on Go. He only has a moment to register the attack before it happens.

Behind Go, rising from the depths of the stagnant gym water, is the largest tentacruel Spark has ever beheld. The moment its eyes break the surface, its tentacles whip forward with a deafening crack. They wrap tightly around Spark’s waist and thighs, then drag him towards the water. The hooks within its suction cups cut effortlessly through his clothes and dig deep into his flesh. He screams and impulsively tries to wriggle out of the hold, but the hooks only dig deeper, ripping him up more.

Go launches himself from the chair and scrambles for Spark, but the tentacruel is too fast. Go only manages to snag the rifle, but Spark slips free of its strap via a swift yank. Go’s panicked face is the last thing Spark sees before disappearing beneath the surface.

He hardly has the opportunity to take a breath before he’s dragged under, but he manages a quick gasp right as he’s overtaken. His blood stains the filthy water around him, streaming up while the tentacruel drags him down, down until it’s nearly as dark as the forest outside.

 

 

Instinct kicks in, powered by adrenaline and anger. Though stripped of his rifle–useless, anyway, had it been submerged–he still has his knife. With it, he ruthlessly slashes at the tentacruel. He stabs and slashes and kicks. His lungs burn and he’s lightheaded, but he keeps at it, weakening the appendages until he _amputates_ them. Before the tentacruel can grab him with its equally barbed, but less dexterous arms, Spark swims for the surface through the billowing cloud of crimson. He kicks as hard as he can with his aching, bleeding legs and launches himself upwards with broad strokes of his arms.

He surfaces with a rattling gasp, and when he swims towards the edge of the pool, Go is there to help haul him out of the water. Spark trembles, exhausted, head-spinning, but Go pulls him into his lap with weak arms. Even as Go fusses over him, Spark grabs the rifle laying beside him.

“You goddamn reckless–”

But Go doesn’t get to finish before the tentacruel, stronger now with excruciating pain, lumbers out of the water toward them.

Spark braces the rifle’s stock against his shoulder and fires. The tentacruel is an enormous pokemon, an enormous target, but Spark’s ammunition rounds are designed to kill. Without using the scope, without bothering to breathe, Spark fires again and again until the tentacruel staggers back and the rivulets running off its body are bloody pink.

As it teeters precariously on the edge of the battle area, Spark looks through the scope, down the length of the barrel, and takes aim. He’s already maimed and mortally wounded the pokemon–there’s no reason to let it suffer. With a single shot, he puts it down. It collapses into the water with an meteoric splash that soaks them.

With the immediate threat eliminated, Spark leans back into Go’s hold with sigh. When he tucks the knife back into his boot, he realizes Go’s as rigid as a board behind him.

“Go?”

“Holy shit, Spark.”

“What?” he asks, looking up to him.

“Just…”

Go gets yanked out from under him, and Spark catches the barest glimpse of vines before he hits the concrete hard. He’s momentarily dazed, but not so disoriented to not recognize the battle suddenly exploding around him.

Balto and Stormy spring into action against the venusaur holding Go captive, launching flamethrower and thundershock, respectively, without Spark’s command. Spark, for his part, rearranges his weapon and aims at the trainers. There are four of them, and they throw pokeballs like confetti. The balls pop to life to release a wheezing, a ninetails, a muk–countless other pokemon that quickly overwhelm Spark’s minuscule team.

Spark dives out of the way of a particularly nasty combination attack from the muk and ninetails–one that would have covered him in flammable gunk–and tumbles through a noxious cloud of gas from the wheezing. But once on the ground, he lines up another shot and brings down one of the trainers with a ringing blast and smattering gore.

“What the fuck?!” one of the Rocket trainers shout. He kneels beside his fallen comrade, but Spark fires again. One lifeless body falls atop another. Their pokemon, sans trainers, stand dazed for a few heartbeats before listlessly disengaging from battle. His two shots cut the number of players on the field in half.

“Drop your weapon!” the venusaur’s trainer commands. “Or he dies.” The pokemon’s vines lift Go high into the air–a fall from that height alone would kill him–and squeeze. Go whimpers and struggles against the crushing pressure, but he never tears his gaze from Spark.

Stormy and Balto duck and dodge away from their pokemon opponents to flank Spark. Unwilling to risk Go’s life, Spark sets his weapon down and weakly climbs to his feet, hands raised. “I surrender,” he says. “Release him.”

“Your weapon,” the trainer says, pointing to the rifle at Spark’s feet.

Spark unflinchingly complies, kicking it away. The rifle spins and skitters to a halt before the Rocket trainer. He picks up and props it against his shoulder, but how he awkwardly bears its weight tells Spark he hasn’t faintest idea how to use it.

Heaving a sigh, the Rocket trainer pinches the bridge of his nose, gloved fingers massaging his freckled skin. From beneath his black cap, Spark spies wisps of fiery red hair damp with sweat. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” the Rocket Trainer–Spark decides to call him Red–laments. “FUCK!”

When he throws a pokeball, Spark takes a step back out of reflex, and Stormy and Balto fill the space where he stood to protect him. The pokeball releases a battered, bloody pikachu with a pop. The pikachu hits the ground with an unceremonious thud.

“Rudy,” Spark breathes. Go’s pikachu.

“Thundershock,” Red snarls.

Rudy climbs weakly to his feet with feebly flaring cheeks. Stormy braces to take the blow, but instead of attacking Spark, Rudy attacks Go. Rudy whimpers and cries, but electricity flares to life from his meager energy reserves and arcs through the air. Go screams as he’s struck, writhing helplessly in the venusaur’s grasp, and Rudy’s cries pitch.

The agony lasts for maybe fifteen seconds before Rudy keels. Go hangs limply where he’s held aloft.

Red scoffs. “Useless.”

“What is it you want?” Spark demands.

“Not you,” Red snaps. “This wasn’t meant for you. But here you are, fucking everything up like you always do–the Academy’s most useless Team Leader.”

“You mean the Team Leader who took out four of your men?” Spark sneers. “Oh, and your tentacruel?”

“We didn’t plan for that,” Red answers, annoyed. “Clearly. But you’ll pay for the lives you’ve taken. We can weaken Valor in other ways. This one’s ultimately expendable.” He nods to Go.

 _They want Candela_ , Spark realizes with sudden, poignant clarity. That’s why they chose a water gym for their trap. That’s why they took Go as bait.

“You’ll kill him, then?” Spark asks carefully. “She won’t wilt like a tender flower because he’s dead. You’ll only incite her wrath and a thirst for vengeance.”

“Because taking him wouldn’t have done the same?”

Spark shrugs. “Less than killing him.”

“Thundershock,” Red says again.

From where Rudy lays on the ground, he squeezes his eyes shut, crying softly, but summons another bolt of electricity to send pulsing through Go. Ten seconds–Spark counts them, and he watches Go carefully. Another shock, even a mere five seconds, will kill him.

A quick glance to Stormy and Balto finds them awaiting Spark’s orders. Unlike most trainers, Spark’s attunement as Zapdos’ emissary grants him a stronger, more influential bond with his pokemon. He doesn’t have to give verbal orders for them to act–and they understand him enough to act on his behalf in accordance with his wishes regardless.

Spark takes a breath and gives the faintest of nods, and all three of them spring into action as one.

Balto uses flamethrower to ignite the puddles and trails of left behind by the Rocket muk. The height of the flames and the thick smoke provide the cover Spark needs to yank his knife from his boot and throw it. Stormy, with her magnetic influences, charges and directs the flying blade.

It pierces its target–Red’s throat. Even over the roar of the flames, Red’s last gurgling breaths, how he drops to his knees with horror on his face, then falls to the side sears itself into Sparks mind. Spark watches him bleed out, watches the life fade from his eyes, and feels no remorse.

The venusaur, like the other Rocket pokemon, staggers under the death of its trainer. Spark and Balto act in tandem–Balto lowering himself and Spark leaping onto his back–and they race to the dazed venusaur. When the pokemon’s vines fall slack, Go slips from its grip. Balto leaps high into the air, and Go slams into Spark’s awaiting grasp hard enough to nearly knock them both from Balto’s back.

Balto lands hard and stumbles, but Spark heedlessly slides off of him to ease Go to the ground. Go’s eyes are closed, his skin burned and blistered where Rudy’s electricity had arced through him. Two of Spark’s shaking fingers beneath Go’s jaw yield nothing but the tender give of flesh.

“Go?”

Spark rips open Go’s shirt and presses his ear against his chest. He also holds his hand over Go’s mouth and nose. He neither hears a heartbeat nor feels breath. “Fuck!” He digs the heels of his palms beneath Go’s rib cage to begin chest compressions. He counts to thirty, then tips Go’s head back and forces air into his lungs until the count of four; then he returns to compressions.

“Don’t,” he pleads. “Go, please. Don’t. Don’t you dare fucking die on me.” He keeps heaving his weight against Go’s chest, even as his vision blurs with tears.

“Holy shit…”

Spark looks up sharply to find the last Rocket member. He’d all but forgotten about the last remaining enemy in light of Go’s condition. Beside him, Balto snarls viciously. “Sic ‘em,” Spark mutters.

Balto tears across the gym and brings the Rocket member down during her attempt to flee: five long strides and a pounce. Balto growls and snarls as he tears apart her clothes, as his claws and teeth break her soft skin. Spark returns to tending to Go–he has no qualms with Balto maiming her, but he wants her alive. When she’s neutralized, Balto returns to Spark with a foaming, crimson muzzle.

“He’s not responding,” Spark hisses, still willing Go’s heart to beat. “Stormy!”

She abandons Rudy, who she’d been recharging with gentle cheek nuzzling, and dashes to Spark.

“I need you to shock him,” he says. “I can’t get his heart going. You have to jump start it for me. Quick.” He leans back on his haunches and gestures to where Stormy should place her paws. “Gently,” he instructs. “Just a bit.”

Stormy charges and shocks Go. She pinpoints Go’s heart specifically with her experience and skill. His body still seizes beneath her, chest heaving hard enough to nearly throw her, but it’s nowhere near as violent as when Rudy shocked him. She digs her claws into Go and holds on through his bucking.

“Again,” Spark urges.

Stormy obeys. When Spark reaches for the place over Go’s heart, Stormy slides her paws away. With his palm pressed against Go’s chest, Spark tucks two fingers beneath his jaw and chokes on a sudden, involuntary sob. He folds over Go’s body and cries.

Go’s pulse is faint, but it’s there, tapping lightly against Spark’s fingertips, against the heart of his palm. “Oh my God,” Spark whimpers, and gathers Go into his arms. He clutches him desperately, rocking him as he sobs against his shoulder. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d _lost you_.”

Balto lays down behind Spark, offering his soft fur and intimidating bulk as a safe haven for Spark to crumble. And Spark does crumble. With a breathing, living Go in his arms, he falls back against his arcanine and weeps.

Stormy fetches Rudy, who’s still worse for wear but better after her attention, and they huddle together against Balto. Without instruction, Stormy thundershocks Rudy’s pokeball until it shatters. Rudy crawls atop Go and curls up against his chest, wedging himself between his trainer and Spark.

When Balto howls, a huge bellowing sound that fills and rattles the dilapidated water gym, Spark’s grateful for the taken initiative. He can’t tear his eyes from or think beyond Go.

Go, safe. Go, in his arms. Go, alive.

Spark buries another choked breath against Go’s shoulder as Zapdos descends through the collapsing gym roof.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [valiant-instinct](http://valiant-instinct.tumblr.com/) did this [wonderfully heart-wrenching art](http://valiant-instinct.tumblr.com/post/153893897433/too-good-part-5-by-foxtricks-x-the-art-of-eye) for this chapter. make sure you give her a like and a follow because she's honestly one of the best!

Spark doesn’t remember the details of their rescue–all he knows for sure is that the plan he’d put in place with his uncle worked to safely extract he and Go. His recollection is riddled with bellowed orders, pain, and fuzzy, vague images of Balto, Stormy, and Rudy. At some point between Zapdos’ descent and their rescue, he had succumbed to shock.

Or so his nurse told him.

He watches her, only mildly interested in the vitals she takes from the various machines attached to him. It’s the IV he considers a true tether, the needle taped securely into the back of his hand. With limbs made of lead, he forces himself into a seated position and grits his teeth as the movement pulls at the countless lines of stitches that stripe his hips and thighs–the painful tugging the only reason he’s even aware of them. It’s not as if the nurse has offered him a wealth of information.

“You’ll want to rest,” the nurse scolds him without a glance. “You’ve only just woken up.”

And upon waking up, he recognized his suite in one of his many electric gyms. Though, truth be told, his personal quarters in his gyms were all styled the same, so he couldn’t be sure where, exactly he was. He’d arranged for at least three different safe-houses for post-extraction recovery.

“I need to see Go,” Spark says.

“He’s unconscious.”

“I need to be with him.”

“You need to rest.”

Spark looks away from the nurse as his uncle strides into the room, and his eyebrows raise in surprise. “Uncle Taran.”

“How’re you feeling, kiddo?”

“A little like death?” Spark offers with a weak laugh. He sobers quickly. “But I can’t stay here.”

“You have to,” Lt. Surge says, a note of regret in his voice. “Your wounds aren’t fatal, but they are severe. You should limit your movement as much as possible and try to sleep.”

“Where are my pokemon?”

“At the gym’s Pokemon Center. They’re okay. The pikachu was pretty battered, but he didn’t fuss about the pokeball and should be right as rain in a day or two.”

Spark should be relieved, and a small part of him is, but anxiety claws at his throat with being parted from Go. He couldn’t abide by it–not after how closely he came to losing him. “Uncle, I need to–”

“Your boyfriend needs rest, too, Spark,” Lt. Surge says. “More than you, actually. He almost didn’t make during travel.”

Spark hisses through the dread swooping deep in his gut. Instead of dwelling how Go had nearly died while he was clearly incapacitated, he uses it to further his own cause. “I need to be _with him_. Clearly you can understand that, if his state is so fragile.”

“Honestly, kid? You have bigger things to worry about.” Lt. Surge folds his arms across his chest and fixes Spark with a pained expression of grim disappointment, the kind Spark received just before being punished.

Shaking his head, Spark mutters, “Nothing’s more important than Go.” To the nurse, he gestures to the IV and says, “Get this thing out of my hand. I’m going to him.”

“Spark, please,” Lt. Surge says. “Hear me out before you go rushing off, okay? I won’t keep you if you don’t want to be kept, but you need to hear this.”

“What?” Spark growls. The nurse, much to his delighted surprise, heeds his order and removes his IV. He glances to how she bandages his hand in passing before turning his full focus to his uncle.

Sighing, Lt. Surge says, “Your mission…”

“What about it?”

“It wasn’t sanctioned.”

Spark answers, “It wasn’t. But I told you that.”

“You told me it was _unorthodox_.”

Spark shrugs.

“You said it was _outside of regulation_.”

“Neither of those are untrue,” Spark grumbles.

“Candela and Blanche never approved it,” Lt. Surge barks. “Your _Birds_ never agreed upon it.”

He doesn’t flinch beneath the accusation, but Spark does bite his lip. He shrugs again. “I don’t care,” he answers honestly. “Based on his injuries and how they were torturing him, Go would have been dead by the time the Academy finally did something about his disappearance. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

“You’re going to have to answer for this, Spark,” and his uncle sounds hurt. His uncle sounds scared. “Did you even consider the consequences?”

“Of course I did,” Spark retorts. He struggles to find the void of apathy he so easily tapped with the rifle in his hands, but he can’t find it. He’s baffled by how little downing targets fazed him, yet his uncle’s glassy eyes and wavering voice left him quaking with some remnant of childhood fear. _A disappointment yet again_. Spark’s cheeks flush, but he averts his gaze to spare his uncle the sight.

“I can’t protect you from this.”

“I don’t want you to,” Spark murmurs. He can’t take it anymore. He can’t take how much his uncle loves him, despite how much shame and dishonor he’s brought upon his legacy, the legacy of his grandfather, the legacy of Team Instinct. He knows. He _knows_. “I need to see Go.”

 

###

 

Making his way from his Leader’s suite to towards the guest wing of the gym is a long, painful trek. The tentacruel raked his hips and thighs deep and thorough, and the stitching needed to hold his tattered flesh together tugs uncomfortably with each stiff step he takes. He limps mostly, unable to particularly favor either leg. He’s in too much pain for his usual black pants, leather with a rubber insulating layer, but a pair of soft cotton sleep pants accommodate the layers of bandages covering his wounds and his dignity.

Two of the gym’s top lieutenants flank him, trained by Lt. Surge and posted to Spark’s command. They informally debrief Go’s rescue–the five Rocket members killed at Spark’s hand, the orphaned pokemon, the recovered stolen eggs, what little information Red revealed about Rocket’s motives. The lieutenants are efficient and only take from Spark’s time what is absolutely necessary. They update him on the status of his pokemon and inform him Zapdos is in his roost. When they stand outside of Go’s temporary quarters, they ask if Spark needs anything else.

Spark hesitates before saying, “No one enters the gym without my permission. Absolutely no one. Set up a defensive perimeter to see it carried out.” He doesn’t know if word has reached Blanche or Candela yet, but they’ve surely noticed Zapdos’ absence. He isn’t ready to confront them. Not yet.

“Is that all, sir?”

“Yes,” Spark says. “Dismissed.”

They leave him alone in the hallway, and Spark takes a deep breath. It feels like his heart is slamming against his rib cage and sinking into the pit of his stomach in equal measure. It’s adrenaline and dehydration and fatigue wrapped in compact package, bowed with general anxiety; a weight that pushes against the back of his throat and unsettles his stomach. But just beyond the door–he places his palm apprehensively against its surface–is the one person who always quells his unease. He knocks.

“Yeah?”

Spark’s knees nearly buckle with relief at Go’s muffled voice. He braces himself against the door handle for a fleeting moment before opening the latch and poking his head into the room. He musters his brightest, most confident smile for Go. “Hey. Mind if I come in?” But he enters without a formal invitation, quietly closing the door behind him.

Go looks better–far better, Spark notes–when he isn’t covered in blood. The unwelcome image rises from Spark’s memory and supersedes the present with disturbing clarity. Spark blinks to clear his head and vision. Go is covered in bandages, not blood, and what of his body isn’t bandaged is bruised. The beating he’d endured at Rocket’s hands is clear with every mark on him, but he’s conscious, he’s alert, and though it wavers, he smiles for Spark. “Hey,” he answers. “I was wondering where you were.”

He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “They had me confined to bed rest for a hot minute, but…” Spark lets the thought hang and shrugs. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come to you sooner.”

“No worries,” Go says. He gestures to the chair at his bedside, far better than anything the Academy Infirmary offers to patients’ guests. “Take a seat, if you want. Stay awhile.”

Spark bites his lip to suppress a smile, but his cheeks warm and there’s little he can do for it. _Of course_ Spark recognizes those innocuous words used against him–as if anything from that day would escape his memory. If the widening of his grin is any indication, Go notices. Spark shuffles to the chair and unabashedly pushes it as close as possible to Go’s bedside. He sits with only the faintest grimace.

Frowning, Go says, “Maybe you should have stayed in bed.”

Spark shakes his head. “I had to see you.”

Go huffs. “You really didn’t. This is an electric gym. I’m sure the staff could have told you how I was doing?”

When he drops his gaze to Go’s limp hand, he sees it’s wrapped with gauze and realizes Go’s feet are probably the same–points of expulsion for electric current. Spark’s own hands are calloused and scarred from frequent shocks and burns over his lifetime, but he’d never sustained an electrocution as Go had. Carefully, he slides his hand beneath Go’s so their palms touch, and he loosely laces their fingers. “It’s not the same,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

“I’m sorry _you’re_ hurt,” Go counters. “You weren’t supposed to come for me. They didn’t even want you and now you’re–” He waves his free hand vaguely in Spark’s direction. Though Spark feels like he’s been through Hell and back, his most serious injuries are mostly covered by his clothes. “You shouldn’t have come,” he adds, weakly.

It’s an attempt at reason when Spark says, “Candela wouldn’t have been successful had she been the one to find you. She searched, sure, but she wasn’t very successful with that, either.” He encases Go’s hand within his own, running his thumb lightly over the rough gauze. He studies where they touch when he adds, “I’m glad it was me.”

Go murmurs, “I’m glad it was you, too.” He wriggles his hand from Spark’s hold, then traces the edge of Spark’s jaw with his fingertips before cupping his cheek. Spark leans into it and kisses Go’s palm, then rests his unoccupied hand atop the blanket over Go’s hip. “I know my sister would give anything and everything to keep me safe, but I also know she–” He swallows and hesitates, but Spark patiently waits him out. “–they would have killed she and I both. They had a good plan. I’m glad you fucked it up for them.”

Spark huffs a weak laugh, but Go doesn’t move his hand, so Spark indulges in the touch. Their time together is usually so fleeting, Spark feels like a thief for stealing these moments when they’re both so weak. How Go traces his cheek with an absent thumb has Spark flushing bright and hot, and he hums through the flood of embarrassment. Go has a way of flustering him he hasn’t experienced in a long time.

“How’s Rudy?” Go asks, moving his hand up and into Spark’s hair.

His eyes slip closed as Go combs through his unruly locks. The casual intimacy soothes something clawing within him. Spark answers, “Weak, but recovering. I’m told he should be one hundred percent in a day or two.”

“Will you stay with me until he’s healed? It’s, um–” Go flushes and drops his gaze. “It’s really quiet here and–” He tries to pull his hand away, but Spark catches it gently before he fully retreats.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

Still unable to meet Spark’s gaze, Go says, “Then spend your bed rest here.” He shifts to make room for Spark beside him–the bed is much larger than the standard infirmary fare–and pulls the blanket down in invitation.

“My suite’s more comfortable. I could have you–”

“Spark,” Go interrupts. He snaps up his gaze and fixes Spark with flat annoyance. “Get in the damn bed.”

Laughing sweetly, Spark obeys.

 

###

 

 

Their wounds leave them shifting in search of comfortable positions, but they do eventually settle. Go presses his face against Spark’s throat and curls as close to him as he dares in his embrace, draping an arm across his stomach and entwining their ankles. With his head pillowed along Spark’s shoulder and bicep, Spark twirls the soft strands of Go’s hair between his fingers, idly petting him while chasing illusive sleep; with his free hand, he just clutches Go’s shirt, afraid of aggravating his wounds with his touch. Spark doesn’t know how long they lay there, quietly wrapped up in each other, but Go’s breaths soon fall slow and steady against his neck, and his limbs turn sleep-heavy where they press against him. Spark’s happy for him to rest.

He sighs softly and presses his lips to Go’s forehead, relishing the absence of the metallic scent of blood when he breathes deep–just simple soap and Go. Spark’s breath stutters when he’s suddenly awash with dangerously familiar emotion, and he closes his eyes against it, against the stinging tears that come with it.

Go’s hand twitches tentatively to life where it rests along Spark’s flank, and Spark’s damp eyes snap open at the sudden movement. Go drags his fingertips, the only part of his hand free of bandages, down the length of Spark’s side, lingering apprehensively at the waistband of his pants. Instead of inching lower, Go inches up under his shirt and lazily traces abstract patterns along Spark’s skin. Spark shivers.

“You were limping when you came in,” Go murmurs, breath warm against Spark’s clavicle.

Spark hums noncommittally.

“How hurt are you, really?”

“I’m hurt,” he dodges.

Go sighs, “Because of me.”

Spark tugs Go’s shirt sharply in reprimand, then pulls him a little closer. “Don’t think like that. None of this is your fault.”

He snorts skeptically before giving up the fight. He drags his hand back to the waistband of Spark’s pants. “It was the tentacruel, wasn’t it?”

“Mm.” Spark trembles beneath even the most innocent of Go’s touches. They’re in no condition to do more than hold each other, but Spark barely manages how overwhelmed he still feels. “There are hooked claws in their suction cups. Helps them capture prey in the wild.”

“When it pulled you away,” Go starts, and his voice cracks. “When I couldn’t hold onto you–”

“Go…”

“–I thought I’d never see you again.”

His laugh is a bit forced, but Spark manages it before kissing Go’s forehead. He doesn’t mention the wetness dampening his neck and shoulder. “It’d take more than murderous Rocket tentacruel for that to happen.”

“It _was_ a murderous Rocket tentacruel,” Go says, horror pitching his voice to a panicked height. “Spark, you could have–”

“But I didn’t,” Spark interrupts. “You could have too, but you didn’t.”

“Because of you,” Go argues. “You saved my life. And I…” He curls a bit more, smearing his tear-wet cheeks across Spark’s shirt. “I couldn’t even…”

There’s nothing Spark can say to quell his self-loathing, so he curls instinctively around him in return, offering whatever sense of protection and comfort the gesture can give.

“I want to see,” Go says suddenly, either unaware or uncaring of how his voice wavers. He tugs at Spark’s pants.

Spark sighs, heartbroken. “Go…”

“I want to see what I cost you.”

“It’s nothing that won’t heal with time. I’m fine. I promise.”

“It had _hooks_ in its _suction cups_.” Stubbornly, despite what agony it must cause, Go pulls away from Spark and props himself on his elbow. His jaw twitches in discomfort, but there’s bitter determination in his eyes and in the set of his frown. “Show me what it did to you.”

“It isn’t pretty,” Spark mutters. “Especially since it’s still so fresh…”

Go scoffs and rolls his eyes hard. “Because _I’ll_ certainly be winning beauty pageants after I’m healed.”

“I saw your injuries,” Spark explains, because it’s easier to reassure Go than it is to reassure himself. “Before they cleaned you up and bandaged you, I saw them. They’ll heal fine. You’ll have interesting scars–electricity does that, marks you with lightning–but you aren’t maimed. You’ll still be…” _beautiful. Stunning. So very worth it._ The raw, brutal truth of those thoughts startles Spark.

A lovely flush darkens Go’s cheeks, but Spark’s words do little to sway or distract him. “Show me what I cost you, Spark.”

When Go tugs on his pants again, Spark obligingly lifts his hips enough to sate his curiosity. He’s thoroughly bandaged, and he only lets Go expose so much of his ravaged flesh, but Go’s startled gasp is enough to drive Spark’s gaze upwards to the ceiling. He braces himself for the inevitable disgust–if it doesn’t come now, it _will_ come later, when the stitches are removed. Unlike Go, his lacerations are long and deep, tearing muscle and, in some places, exposing bone. His injuries will scar like the stripes of an arcanine and likely never fade. There’s no philosophical beauty in the aftermath for him.

“How can you even walk?” Go asks. Spark bites his lip when he feels the faint pressure of Go tracing his bandages. “How’d you even come to me?”

“Sheer will?” he offers meekly, absently counting ceiling tiles.

“Sheer will,” Go repeats.

“I, ah–no. I have no other explanation.”

“It hurt?”

“Some.”

“Spark.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me.”

He swallows hard and chews his lip to buy himself a few more heartbeats of peace–he knows whatever rejection Go wears will shatter him. But he doesn’t make Go wait long before he complies; what he finds in his expression…isn’t what he anticipated. He can’t define it–Go can be cryptic when he wants to be–but it isn’t disgust as Spark knows it. But Spark’s words fail him because Go still strokes the paths of his bandages, tracing the criss-crossing suechers holding his wounds closed.

“You found me after I was taken.”

“Yes…?”

“Alone, putting your own life at risk.”

He can see where this line of questioning leads. He’s suddenly careening towards a cliff on a runaway train, powerless to stop it, and he doesn’t even know how he got there. “I had three powerful pokemon with me,” Spark argues weakly. Go snaps the elastic of Spark’s underwear–Spark yelps embarrassingly–but he quickly soothes away the surprise by touching his bandages again. “Yes,” Spark answers instead.

“You killed people.”

This is where the train leaves the tracks. Spark considers looking away, but he knows Go won’t tolerate it. He licks his lips, searching Go’s expression for some scrap of understanding, some iota of compassion, though he doesn’t expect to find any. And he doesn’t. “…yes,” he says hoarsely.

“You killed pokemon.”

Admitting to one is hardly worse than admitting to the other. He’s resigned, free-falling, when he says, “Yes.”

“To save me.”

Spark can’t face him anymore, can’t bear the intense ruthlessness of his gaze, can’t withstand the weight of it. He’s no stranger to losing everything, but it gets harder every time. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly before staring somewhere over Go’s shoulder. Go lets him. “…yes,” he murmurs.

“And then, freshly injured and in pain, you came to my room.”

“Yes.”

“Because you had to see me.”

Spark sighs. “ _Yes_.”

Go’s voice softens so sweetly when he says his name–"Spark?“–Spark nearly falls to tears. It twists something in his chest that makes it hard to breathe. It feels like collecting water with a sieve. It leaves him stripped and raw and so ill-equipped to regain any sense of composure. But Go expects an answer, so Spark gives him one:

“…yes?”

Now Go won’t let him look away. He takes Spark by the jaw and guides his gaze back to meet his, and what Spark sees in his eyes–he can’t even begin to collect his erratic feelings before they’re spilling over and drowning him. “You’re an idiot,” Go says, so fond and full of affection.

Spark’s tears come when Go holds him fast and kisses him. He whimpers when Go suckles his bottom lip, then whines when he presses harder and slips his tongue into his mouth. There’s no plundering, no ravaging, though Spark’s chest heaves as Go wrecks him just the same. Slick lips caress his and Go’s warm breath has Spark hungering to close the space between them. He yanks Go’s shirt weakly to urge him to do so.

Go leans over him, bracing his weight on his forearm beside Spark’s shoulder, and doesn’t stop kissing him. His body is a line of heat along Spark’s side, familiar and tangible, and Spark can’t stop himself from _touching_. Careful, so careful of his injuries, Spark skates a hand up Go’s shirt. He finds more bandages–medical tape and gauze–but also warm skin. Go hums against Spark’s kiss-swollen lips. Go is alive and there and _kissing him_. Between saccharine caresses and chaste presses, Go cards his fingers through Spark’s hair tenderly.

Spark gasps wetly into the next meeting of their mouths, and when he closes his eyes, the brimming tears spill to dampen his temples. Go brushes away what he can, nuzzles noses with him, then murmurs again, “You’re an idiot.”

Impulsively, Spark says brokenly, “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for–the lives he’s taken, his streaming tears, the emotions he can’t tame and is still too terrified to identify, Go’s injuries–but he’s sorry. He’s so sorry.

“Don’t be,” Go answers, and kisses him again.

 

###

 

Spark glares at the door before it opens, the soft knock upon its surface hardly a warning or a request to enter. He isn’t surprised when is uncle walks into the room, but at least his uncle is observant enough to remain quiet; Go slumbers peacefully while he cradles Spark, and though Spark loathes to leave the inherent comfort of Go’s arms, he’d be even more outraged for Go to be disturbed.

Stormy and Balto hover worriedly just beyond the door, peeking daringly around Lt. Surge’s large, imposing form. Lt. Surge, for his part, just nods towards the door behind him.

Spark gestures vaguely with a wave of his hand for a few moments, and his uncle gives him a faint nod before leaving the room. The door softly clicks shut behind him, and Spark heaves a quiet sigh.

He never imagined being grateful Go slept so heavily, but Spark is as he cautiously extricates himself from Go’s possessive hold–so possessive, even in sleep. Spark smirks and bites his lip. Finally free, Spark lingers to savor the sight of Go’s peacefully resting face, how the severity he sometimes wore is completely absent, how, so too, was his brilliant smile. Still, he looks unburdened as he only can in sleep.

After pulling the warm blankets up around him, Spark kisses Go’s forehead. He searches the room for a notepad and pen, jotting a note to be found upon Go’s waking.

“Admin business. Be back soon. ~S. PS–don’t forget to eat.”

Spark leaves the room. How his pokemon and his uncle waited for him outside isn’t a shock, but what is a shock is how Spark doesn’t feel the least bit guilty for making them wait. He closes the door as quietly as Lt. Surge had. “Have Rudy brought to Go as soon as possible,” he says.

“Understood.”

Spark nods, pleased, then asks, “What’s the situation?”

Lt. Surge answers, “The Academy’s combing the area in droves.”

“How long have I been out?” At his uncle’s behest, they make their way down the hall, away from Go’s room. Balto presses close to Spark, and Spark accepts the invitation to lean against him. Stormy’s on Balto’s back and gives Spark’s hair a quick nuzzle, static crackling between them. He pets her head in greeting.

“About two days.”

He hums. “That means they’re launching their official search. I wonder–” _if Candela thinks I’ve abandoned her?_ It’s the one consequence he hadn’t considered before taking action. He stumbles briefly in his hesitation, but Balto is there to catch his unsteady weight. Lt. Surge, too, puts a hand between his shoulder blades to help him regain his footing. Suddenly, almost to himself, he says, “I have to see Zapdos.”

“Is it wise to bring him into this?” Lt. Surge asks, carefully. “It’s one thing if you rebel. It’s another if–”

“He’s in this as deep as I am, uncle,” Spark interrupts. “There are no secrets between he and I.”

Spark can’t tell if his uncle is awed or troubled when he says, “Your bond with him is deep. It’s always been clear, but…” He frowns. “I guess I never imagined it being tested in this way.”

“We’ll see if he keeps me once the dust settles,” Spark comments, bitterly. He straightens as much as he can through the pain arcing through his hips and weakening his knees; he forces all the authority of Team Instinct’s Leader into his voice as he says, “Keep Blanche and Candela at bay. I’ll deal with them when I’m ready.”

With a hardened expression, Lt. Surge huffs, “You want us to face off against _emissaries_?”

“Two emissaries,” Spark carelessly corrects, holding up fingers to indicate the number. “But just keep them busy. They won’t attack the gym–they’re too honorable for that.” _Unlike me_. “They’ll push you to give in, but don’t. I’ll see to them soon.” It sounds far more ominous than he means, though he decides to use it to his advantage.

“Spark…”

But Spark limps away from his uncle and heads towards Zapdos’ roost down a different hallway. “I’m not asking you to protect me, uncle,” he calls with an absent wave. “I’m asking you to _distract them_.” He glances back only briefly when hurried footsteps pound the floor behind him, but his uncle addresses the harried gym lieutenants in his stead.

“You heard the Leader’s order?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Then get to it!”

With his hand still resting on Balto’s flank, Spark smirks–his uncle’s military bellow hasn’t changed in all these years. It booms thunderously, and it rattles Spark’s bones. It’s the first time he can remember being grateful to hear it.


	6. Chapter 6

_You’re wounded._

Spark sighs. Balto stands just beyond the automatic door, unwilling to traverse the threshold into Zapdos’ roost. He drags his fingers through the thick fur at Balto’s chest. “Thanks, buddy,” he murmurs. Spark leaves him, waiting until the automatic door shuts before limping towards Zapdos.

_You should be resting._

“Candela and Blanche are on their way.”

_As are Moltres and Articuno. I fail to see how it’s relevant to your recovery._

“I have to meet them.”

_Your condition makes that difficult._

“Zapdos–”

His eyes narrow suspiciously. _You use that name sparingly. You are beleaguered. You should be with your mate, resting._

“I don’t have time to rest,” Spark hisses. He clenches his fists, and his knuckles to crack. He takes a breath and closes his eyes for a brief moment. After quickly collecting himself, he says, “About what I did.”

_You were not alone in your mission, though it may have felt so._

Unsteadily, Spark says, “I don’t know what happens next.”

_Heal. Help your mate heal. Return to the Academy and your duties once you’re well. I don’t understand your plight._

“Blanche will be upset with my disobedience. Candela will undoubtedly feel betrayed. Articuno didn’t believe it necessary for me to–”

_Articuno is no wiser than Moltres or myself. It baffles me why you revere her so. You are my emissary, and you were in need. I aided you. You are unnecessarily complicating the matter._

“The Treaty states–”

_The Treaty has withstood for ages, unchanged. Perhaps change has become necessary._

Spark stares at Zapdos, notes the faint arcs of electricity that jump between his feathers, the charges that skate along their shafts. The roost is small compared to the Academy cloister, but still comfortable; and the air is charged with Zapdos’ energy. Despite his bright plumage, the literal light emanating from him, his eyes are space-black on a starless night–unfathomably old and just as mysterious. Spark, somehow, finds comfort in the Bird’s stern gaze.

_I’ll not abandon you, Spark._

He shudders involuntarily, Zapdos’ words almost a physical caress down the length of his spine. “Okay,” Spark manages, weakly. He sways, and his wounds ache beneath his weight.

As he casually rights a few ruffled feathers, Zapdos says, _Prepare yourself. We’ll honor your banal human customs on the roof._

Spark laughs, tired and sore. “I’ll need some time.”

_Take as much as you need. They’ll encroach only so far into your territory._

Before Spark leaves, he idles at the door. “Do you really think everything will work out? I mean, I–I did things, Zapdos. I…and I didn’t even hesitate…”

_You did what was necessary._

“Was it really necessary?”

_Your enemies would not have spared your lives. Your actions were necessary for your survival. Had you not done it yourself, I would have done it in your stead._

“Really?”

_You doubt my loyalty to you?_

“No,” Spark says quickly, brows furrowed. “Just the extent of it, I suppose.”

_You are mine to protect. What is yours to protect, I will also protect._

Spark swallows thickly, but faintly nods. A heartbeat later, he nods with more conviction. “Thank you,” he says.

Zapdos doesn’t respond–Spark doesn’t know if a response is necessary–but he fixes him with a sharp, intrusive glint in his eyes that leaves Spark feeling skinned.

Spark leaves before he can embarrass himself further.

 

###

 

He twirls the syringe between his fingers, watching its capped needle with apprehension. He hurts–a hot, aggravated throbbing from his lacerations, and a deep lethargy weighing down his limbs. His clothes don’t help. They’re too tight against his bandages, and they feel like a disguise. He feels like a fraud. The medication is supposed to help with the pain, help him scrape the bottom of his energy barrel and maybe find himself; but he worries succumbing to his wounds, even in this small way, somehow makes him weak.

The rooftop of the gym is a flat expanse of gray concrete, and he stands in the gentle breeze, the strong leader of Team Instinct with Zapdos at his side. If he squints against the bright sun, into the distance, he can just barely make out the faint shapes of Articuno and Moltres. The trails of ice and fire they leave in their wake mark their wide, searching loops. They don’t seem to have noticed his fortified gym.

Zapdos’ narrow beak raps the back of Spark’s elbow and he nearly drops the syringe.

_Use it now lest they see you._

Resigned, Spark obeys. He probes the meat of his thigh with tentative fingers until he finds one of the few gaps between bandages. He uncaps the syringe with his teeth and jams its point into his flesh through his pants, squeezing the plunger. The medication stings as it spreads through his leg, but it quickly fades into a dull warmth. He sighs deeply when the ache of his wounds lessens.

 _Show them no weakness_ , Zapdos reminds him. Then, he expands his wings and his stunning plumage flares to life. Electricity crackles and pops until a magnetic field forms around them, lightning arcing along its spherical shape and kicking up the debris on the rooftop. Abruptly, the faint, drifting shapes of Articuno and Moltes turn, and they race towards Zapdos’ signal.

Seconds later, they land, and Candela is the first to dismount. “Where have you been?!” she demands. Her face is flushed, though from fury or wind, Spark can’t really tell. Her hands tremble at her sides and there’s no fluidity to her movement. Her eyes blaze crimson, and though he knows it’s from Moltres’ presence, the display is ominous.

Blanche climbs down from Articuno’s back and folds her arms across her chest. She doesn’t ask anything of Spark, but her cool expression, the shift of her weight, and her simmering gaze all demand an explanation.

“Zapdos was supposed to help me search! Do you have any idea–”

“Go is safe,” Spark interrupts.

Candela’s anger evaporates like flash-steam. Her red eyes widen, and the tension in her body disappears. “What…?”

“Go’s safe,” Spark repeats. Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he awkwardly averts his gaze. “He’s downstairs.”

“How long…?” Candela starts, but then she stops. She licks her lips, and her voice hardens ruthlessly, a searing venom behind every word. “How long have you had him?”

Spark says, “Two days. He’s hurt, but he’s recovering.”

“When were you planning to tell us?” Blanche interjects. “Anytime before we wasted Academy resources? Anytime before Candela worried herself sick?”

“Once he was well enough,” Spark answers, kicking away an absent rock near his boot. “However long that would have been.”

“So what?” Candela snarls. “You found my brother and just–kept him here? How did you even find him? Who even had him?”

Spark looks up and finds Candela’s typically stunning visage a shadow of its former beauty. She’s ashen with exhaustion, marks like bruises beneath her eyes. Her hair hangs limply about her face where it normally rebels against gravity, and her clothes look like she’s worn them for days. With a soft sigh, he mutters, “I tracked him down to a condemned water gym where he was being held by Rocket. I wanted to give him time to recover before bringing him home to you.”

“You selfish, son of a–!” And in the breath it takes for her to spit the words, she crosses the rooftop in three long, quick strides. Before Spark can react, before Spark can even fathom what she’s about to do, she punches him hard across the face. Behind her fist is all her rage, her fear, her indignation. “You fucking asshole!” And when Spark dares an attempt to face her, she hits him again. She pulls back to strike him a third time, but Spark grabs her wrist, halting the incoming blow. She swings with her free hand, graceless and angry, and Spark snatches her other wrist, too.

“Enough,” he says, holding her fast. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

Her breath escapes her as a sob, and her arms go limp in Spark’ grasp. Tears shamelessly spill from her glassy eyes. She inhales wetly, and as Spark releases her, she collapses against him.

He catches her easily, feels his stitches pull with the added weight, and wraps his arms around her. He rubs her back while she cries, while she murmurs, “He’s safe. He’s really safe,” against his chest, while she falls apart in the relative safety Spark and Blanche provide.

“He’s safe,” Spark answers. “Now pull yourself together so you can see him. You weren’t nearly this upset the last time he was hurt.”

Candela withdraws from Spark’s embrace and scrubs her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “He wasn’t _missing_ last time. He could have been–”

“But he isn’t,” Spark interrupts. “He’s downstairs in one of my guest suites. Take the elevator to the main floor, and my lieutenants will take you to him.”

With a final sniffle, Candela nods faintly. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.” She leaves them then, heading towards the elevator that will take her to her brother. Spark watches her retreating form, sees her wiping her face again and then running her fingers through her hair. Though he doesn’t think Go will be bothered by her worn appearance, he understands the need to exude strength for Go–he’s been doing it, too.

He drags his sleeve across his split lip to mop up the blood, then licks away what immediately wells in its place. When he looks to Blanche, she’s unmoved and unimpressed. With her arms still folded across her chest, she watches him as if he’s a problem that doesn’t want to be solved. “What?” Spark asks.

“You were very passionate about finding Go,” she remarks.

Spark licks his lip again–the exploding, metallic taste of blood on his tongue keeps him grounded. “He’d be dead right now if I hadn’t been,” he answers.

“Do you know why they took him?” Blanche asks. She lingers beside Articuno, and Spark doesn’t know if its for her own comfort or her own safety.

“They wanted Candela,” he explains. “They took her brother and held him in a crumbling water gym hoping to–I don’t even know what.”

“You didn’t think to find out?” Though she’s irritated, she doesn’t seem surprised. Why doesn’t a trap laid for Candela surprise her?

“They had Go for a few days,” Spark snarks. “I’m sure he’ll be able to offer us some information once he’s well enough.”

Blanche’s eyes narrow insidiously. “If you had just–” But before she can finish, heavy footfalls announce the arrival of another person to the rooftop, and she falls silent.

_Welcome, Lieutenant._

“Zapdos.”

Spark turns just in time to see his uncle give Zapdos a respectful nod.

“Lieutenant,” Blanche greets. Spark’s always been impressed with her formality and politeness even in the face of frustration. Though, to be fair, as far as she knows, his uncle has nothing to do with the situation.

“Leader Blanche,” Lt. Surge says. “Welcome. I saw Leader Candela near the elevator on my way up. I trust you’re pleased with Go’s safe return.”

“Yes, we’re all very relieved,” Blanche says. “Though I’m surprised to see you here, so far from Vermilion City. And familiar enough to know Go’s name.”

“Considering the scale of the Academy’s response, I presumed the matter was urgent and offered to assist Spark with some of his more tedious Leader responsibilities. It’s only natural that I become somewhat informed.”

“He’s been very helpful,” Spark explains.

“Though entirely unnecessary,” Blanche counters. “Considering the Academy and the Birds had developed a plan. Had you not flown in the face of it, perhaps summoning the Lieutenant could have been avoided.” With a sigh, she says to Lt. Surge, “I’m sorry Spark has inconvenienced you with his insolence.”

Lt. Surge’s expression stiffens, and the placating smile he wears is forced. “No need to apologize, Leader Blanche,” he says. “It’s what family’s for–it’s not an inconvenience.”

“I’m sure your gym needs you,” Blanche insists.

“And I’m sure my staff is managing its affairs quite well in my absence.” His smile is predatory, used to quiet those under his command. Though he has no power over Blanche, he is her elder, and the authority he exudes permeates even through the title of Emissary or Team Leader. To Spark, Lt. Surge says, “I hadn’t meant to interrupt.” Warily, he eyes Blanche, as if daring her to engage him again, but then returns his focus to Spark. “Our guest has awoken.”

“Spark said Go was well enough for visitors,” Blanche comments, but the note of accusation is unmistakable. Spark likes how his authority within this space annoys her, though it’s a petty thrill.

“Our _other_ guest, Spark.”

Laughing faintly, Spark says, “Ah, yes. Good. I trust you’ll to see her to care?”

With a nod, Lt. Surge says, “I’ll offer her the best of Team Instinct’s hospitality.” He turns on his heel and strides away before he can get entangled any further in Blanche’s piercing interrogation.

“What’s going on, Spark?” Blanche demands.

“Do you plan on getting any angrier with me?” he asks. “Because I’m not in the mood to be lectured or nagged. You’re welcome to stay, but I have business to address, and you have a search party to call off.”

“Spark,” Blanche sighs. “It’s bad enough you’ve gone against the Treaty, but now you border on breaking the Covenant. You’re not in a position to keep secrets.”

“None of us are in positions to keep secrets,” Spark sharply retorts. It’s a stab in the dark, but his instincts are rewarded when Blanche’s eyes soften. She doesn’t flush, or look away. She doesn’t give any typical signs of guilt or shame, but she broadcasts it loudly just the same.

Spark hadn’t had the luxury of parsing through Red’s cryptic language, nor had his prisoner been conscious to interrogate. Too focused on Go, Spark hadn’t bothered much at all to concern himself with the whys of Go’s disappearance–only with the fact that he was safe. Despite this, the wonder nagged him, curiosity gnawing at the frayed edges of his thoughts. The particular interest in Candela seemed too sudden, too…random. This, however, confirmed the validity of his suspicions

“I see.”

“It’s not what you think,” Blanche mutters.

Spark frowns. “But you’ve been withholding.”

“It’s not my matter to discuss,” she says.

“Then it’s Candela’s?” he presses.

“We’ll discuss it at the Academy. What’s important now is that Go is safe and–”

“Don’t dodge the question, Blanche,” Spark interrupts. “And don’t act like you care about Go’s well-being.”

“You aren’t stupid, Spark. I don’t need to spell it out for you,” she snaps. “And fuck you for presuming how I do or don’t feel about Go. Of course I care about his well-being. I wouldn’t have approached Articuno if I hadn’t.”

“Considering your aversion to effective means, I can’t help but wonder,” Spark sneers. “But whatever. It doesn’t matter. If you want to discuss it at the Academy, fine; you have that long to figure out damage control, as you do.”

“Spark–”

“There are urgent matters that need my attention. I’ll let you see yourself to your guest quarters. I hope your stay is comfortable.” Spark leaves before she can reply.

Lt. Surge meets him as he exits the elevator. “She’s pleasant as ever,” he remarks as they walk down the hall toward the basement.

Spark hesitates before answering. Instead of voicing an impassioned, biased opinion, he simply says, “She has her reasons.” Blanche always did–some reason, some excuse. It exhausts Spark just thinking about it. And while he’d love to entertain his uncle’s unsolicited speculation on his fellow Team Leader, he’s distracted as they pass the guest wing of the gym.

When Lt. Surge slows to a stop, Spark unconsciously does as well. “He’s with his sister,” Lt. Surge says. It’s unnecessary–Spark knows Candela’s with Go, as she should be–but the urge to abandon the required next steps makes him hesitate.

“I know,” Spark answers. Because mentioning Candela is meant to remind him that he’s free to tend other matters. He knows his uncle’s tactics, remembers them well from his childhood, but it doesn’t make them any less effective. Or him any less annoyed by them.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” There’s compassion in his voice. The subtle note of sadness reminds Spark how much his uncle really does love him.

Spark licks his still-bleeding lip and says, “No one does.”

“You plan to keep it that way?”

“…I don’t know. I…” He doesn’t have the words yet. They float frustratingly out of reach in the nebulous space between impulse and reason, begging to be plucked and spoken. Spark knows he’ll eventually have to fish them out and properly voice them, but eventually can be a long time.

“Come on,” Lt. Surge says a beat later. “There’s someone we need to talk to.”

 

###

 

The basement level of any electric gym is concrete and metal wiring–grids designed to either neutralize or amplify the electricity emitted by pokemon. There are security measures requiring hand print and voice recognition, there are doors that can only be opened via the scanned retina of chosen personnel. All of the precautions–many Spark believes to be peculiar or extreme–are courtesy of Lt. Surge.

“You can never be too careful,” he’d told a still trusting, naive, young Spark. “And you can’t ever be too trustful.”

Now, like his nerve-wracking bellow, Spark is grateful for his uncle’s eccentricities.

His staff restrained the Rocket member in one of the interrogation rooms deep within the basement, far enough away so the echoes of her angry yelling wouldn’t reach the higher floors. Her screaming–enraged, not hurt–grows louder as Spark and Lt. Surge approach her room.

Two guards stand posted on either side of their guest’s door, one armed with an electabuzz, the other with an eletrode. Judging by their sizes and relative ages, Spark knows a shock from either pokemon could kill if their trainer commanded. The guards themselves are clearly seasoned as well–their faces aren’t familiar to Spark, so he assumes they’re his uncle’s personnel.

“You don’t really have to be here for this,” Lt. Surge says. He stops a handful of paces away from the door. “I know you don’t have much of a stomach for this.”

“I don’t lack the stomach, uncle,” Spark answers, quietly. “I lack the taste.”

After an indifferent hum, his uncle says, “Don’t subject yourself to the things you don’t have to. You don’t have anything to prove.”

“So you say,” he mutters. He brushes past his uncle, then past the guards, neither of which bother to stop or address him. He slams the interrogation room open hard enough for it to bang against the wall. It startles the Rocket member into a momentary silence.

“Ah, if it isn’t Academy embarrassment,” she sneers. She’s battered and bloody, crimson still faintly staining her pale skin, but her wounds have been dressed, and she’s in clean, soft infirmary clothes. Despite the ruthlessness of Balto’s teeth, she’s well enough to sit upright in the stiff metal chair and more than well enough to be hand-cuffed to the table in front of her. “I was wondering when I’d see you. I guess that tentacruel didn’t cause as much damage as we’d hoped.”

“Glad to see you’re doing well,” Spark drawls. He vaguely acknowledges his uncle entering the room behind him, or how the door is shut. He grabs the back of an extra chair, one tucked well out of the Rocket member’s reach, and drags it over to table opposite her. He sits without showing how uncomfortable it is to do so. “So, let’s start out small. What’s your name?”

“Go to hell,” she spits.

Spark tongues his split lip, smiling humorlessly. “Shall I come up with a name for you myself? If you know enough about me to know my role within the Academy, you must know how horrible I am at naming.” He leans back in his chair. “I’m incredibly uncreative. I mean, I named my jolteon Stormy, and I called your leader Red–” He gestures vaguely to his hair, indicating the inspiration for Red’s name. “–in my head right before I killed him.”

“His name was Dalton, and you’d better keep it out of your mouth,” she snaps. Her dark bangs fall around her thin face, lips chapped and pale like old concrete in an abandoned alley.

Folding his arms across his chest, Spark asks, “And what will you do if I don’t?”

She doesn’t thrash against her bindings as Spark expects of her, and she keeps her hands calmly folded in her lap. Instead, her expressions falls curiously blank, her large dark eyes a vacuum of sinister vacancy.

He shouldn’t trust her–he can’t–but before him sits the fruits of Balto’s viciousness. Without looking away from her, Spark asks his uncle, “What’s her medical status?”

“Well enough for this,” Lt. Surge answers.

“You’re sure?”

Lt. Surge snorts in mild offense. He says, “She’s probably just realizing the severity of her situation. She hasn’t been awake long. It’s just an adjustment period. It’ll pass.”

But it doesn’t.

Even as Spark counts the seconds as they tick by, the minutes stack and the girl remains catatonic. Despite Lt. Surge’s attempts at regaining her attention–snaps near her ears, light touches to uninjured places along her shoulders and upper arms, movement before her eyes–she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even blink. And patience has never been one of Spark’s strong virtues.

“She might be faking.”

“Maybe we should do this later,” Spark says, climbing to his feet. “Get medical in here.” He stiffly rounds the table. “We’re gonna get you looked at,” he says gently. “Make sure you’re really well enough to talk to us.”

Lt. Surge warns, “Keep your distance, Spark.”

“She’s catatonic,” Spark says, standing beside the Rocket member. “She isn’t responding to stimuli. She’s not–”

Before he can complete his argument, the Rocket member launches from her chair and throws her arm against Spark’s face. As he reels from the sudden blow, stunned with his brain rattling in his skull, he’s suddenly dragged down and back by his throat. The burn of thin rope, the bite of cuff chains, dig deep and hard into the tender flesh of his neck.

Through the ringing in his ears, he hears his uncle shout something. Through his blurring vision, he sees his uncle stop somewhere just out of reach. He follows the force of his captor’s direction, wrenched viciously to the side, and whatever’s crushing his throat tightens.

He’s off-balance, spine awkwardly arched back–even the basest of his instincts knows that if his weight drops limply, his neck could snap in her hold. As she struggles to maintain her position, her own balance is shaky, though she seems intent on strangling him. Despite this, Spark is still taller, his limbs longer, so he wildly throws an elbow behind him. It doesn’t hit, and the binding around his neck tightens even further.

Spark’s face is hot, his head trapped by her crushing grip and deadly noose. His vision fades completely and his lungs burn behind his ribs. He’s all but deaf beneath the screeching ring in his ears and his useless, thundering pulse. But he throws back another series of elbow strikes, and one of them manages a hit.

He falls to the ground hard, but throws his weight to the side to roll out of the way. Sprawled on the floor, he presses a shaking hand against his throat and gulps breaths of fresh air to fill his aching lungs. After dragging himself still further away from his attacker, he leans against a wall and just…breathes.

“…der Spark? Leader?”

His hearing returns, muffled voices barely forming coherent words. As the darkness in his vision dissipates, flashes of color and blinding light fade into swimming images. It feels like being dragged under water by the tentacruel again.

Leaning over him is one of the two guards. His gloved hands cup Spark’s cheeks to keep his head from lolling to the side, and two fingers press delicately against the underside of his jaw. “Leader Spark, can you hear me?”

Slowly, Spark nods. He rasps a weak, “Yeah.”

Over his shoulder, the guard calls, “He’s okay.” When he stands aside, his uncle soon replaces him. During the switch, however, Spark catches a glimpse of their prisoner, ruthlessly restrained on the ground by the second guard. Splatters of fresh crimson decorate the concrete walls, and she sounds like she’s drowning.

“Spark?”

“Uncle Taran,” Spark sighs, but he sounds like he swallowed glass. “I’m okay. I’m fine. Just–” His uncle abruptly yanks him to his feet.

“Escort Leader Spark back to his suite,” his uncle orders the available guard. “I’ll handle the rest here.”

Whether he’s angry at Spark or their prisoner, he can’t tell, but Spark practically falls against the guard assigned to him. “Uncle–”

“Leave, Spark,” his uncle growls low. “Let me do this. You’re hurt enough.” And a gentle thumb sweeps over the angry, almost-bleeding swatch of burn across his throat. “Go,” he repeats.

Spark doesn’t fight the guard who half-carries him away.

 

###

 

Infirmary staff meet him in his suite and tend the fresh bruise ringing his neck. The skin is broken in sporadic places, consistent with both cloth and metal used with such pressure, but it isn’t enough to bandage. Frankly, the bruising causes Spark more discomfort than the abrasions. They stitch his split lip closed–opened further thanks to the Rocket girl’s elbow–and he spends the rest of the day sulking in bed.

When the report comes later that evening, Spark learns the nameless Rocket member used a combination of her slack cuff chain–intentionally left so to avoid hurting her further– and the drawstring of her infirmary pants. It seems the consideration they’d extended upon her capture nearly cost Spark his life. He rubs his aching throat absently and bitterly redirects his thinking.

It wasn’t the gym’s consideration–it was Spark’s own stupidity. He knew better than to get so close to an enemy, and his uncle had even warned him! Really, if he was going to have such grievous lapses in judgement, he _should_ be strangled by a wounded, captured Rocket member.

He spends more time reviewing the information on the rescued eggs and the captured Rocket pokemon–it’s easier than thinking about what his uncle may or may not be doing to the Rocket member. Pokemon, Spark could address. Prisoners…that was Lt. Surge, and Spark was foolish for thinking he’d ever come close to emulating his uncle.

According to his lieutenants, many of the reclaimed pokemon are aggressive, despite the absence of an aggressive trainer. It isn’t uncommon for pokemon to lash out at new people once the bond with their trainer has been severed, especially when that severing comes as violently, suddenly, and completely as a gunshot. Though, if the data is to be believed, few, if any, of the pokemon will need to be destroyed. Knowing his experts think these poor pokemon could have happy futures fills Spark with a certain sense of hope; like maybe he’s done something good by liberating them from their terrorist trainers.

The tentacruel, though. Could it have been rehabilitated? Could it have found a happy, peaceful existence with a new trainer or in a sanctuary? Spark robbed it of any such hope or opportunity with a few intentional pulls of a trigger. Just a twitch of his finger snuffed out whatever potential may have existed in that powerful creature.

Spark grabs the decanter from his bedside table and fills the tumbler beside it. With jerky fingers, he snatches the glass and gulps down the amber liquid. He does it twice more before he can will his attention away from the reclaimed pokemon and onto the rescued eggs.

There’s only a few lines dedicated to their status. They’re safe, developing normally. Two seem likely to hatch within the next few days.

Spark yawns widely, and his jaw cracks with a satisfying pop. His muscles are stiff and tight, and he wishes he could stretch properly without aggravating his wounds. He skims the reports again before tossing them listlessly onto the beside table. What’s done is done, and there’s no use letting embarrassment and shame keep him up all night.

Blanche would tell him to shut up and go to sleep.

His uncle would tell him to learn from it and be better.

Candela would tell him he was an idiot and lucky to be able to sleep at all.

And Go…Go would…

What? Probably call him an idiot, too. The memory of those kisses mere hours before pains him, but it could just be his split lip.

A knock on the door stops him from chasing the thought any further.

He groans as he pulls back the thick blankets he’d buried himself beneath, then swings his lead-heavy legs over the edge and eases his weight onto their shaky support. It’s been hours since he bothered to move, so he shuffles painfully to the door and all but shouts, “I thought I made it clear that–” But he cuts himself off as he opens the door. “…Go?”

On the threshold of his suite, Go stands with his arms wrapped tightly around his torso, faint tremors rippling up and down his body. Clad only in the infirmary clothes, Spark knows how easily the gym’s chill bites through the thin cloth. But before more than a heartbeat can pass, before Spark can get more than a cursory glance of him, Go launches himself into the suite and into Spark’s arms.

“Go,” Spark sighs, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Go’s shaking eases, though it remains. “What are you doing here? Has something happened?”

“I wanted to see you,” Go murmurs, breath warm where his lips press against Spark’s shoulder. His arms wind around Spark’s waist, snug but not tight, ever mindful of the injuries hidden beneath clothes. “I, just…”

Spark hums inquisitively, hoping to save his words for when they’re most needed. He combs his fingers through Go’s hair, eases them around so he can swing the suite door shut. Go doesn’t release him or budge.

“I just want to _be_ with you. Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” Spark manages softly. Go’s breath stutters against his shoulder, as if the rasp in his voice was somehow meant to be seductive. It wasn’t, but Spark isn’t about to dissuade Go from staying. “Yeah. Come to bed.”

Go’s movements seem less burdened as he pulls away from Spark and laces their fingers to lead him to the bed. His palms are still bandaged and gauze peeks out from the bottom of his soft slippers, but he doesn’t walk as if he’s in pain. In fact, there’s a fierce sort of confidence in his stride, in the set of his shoulders. Spark’s so enchanted by the sight that he hardly notices how difficult it is to keep pace and not let their fingers slip.

Gravitating towards the soft light on the bedside table, Go stops beside the bed, and his expression softens at the nest of blankets Spark had made for himself. His gaze doesn’t linger there long, however, even as he tightens his grip on Spark’s hand and hauls him flush against his back. No, despite how Spark wraps his arms around Go’s waist and nuzzles the soft hair behind his ear, Go still tentatively touches the decanter of liquor, then fingers through the stack of reports set beside it.

Spark lets him.

“Rough day?” Go asks. He leans back against Spark’s chest and uses his free hand to tug lightly at Spark’s wild hair.

Spark hums something affirmative and watches Go skim through the reports from over his shoulder. “Things are complicated right now,” he murmurs like gravel, a preemptive apology of sorts.

“Things have been complicated for a while, it seems,” Go remarks. He can’t contain his surprised gasp when he reads about Spark’s encounter with the Rocket prisoner. “The fuck…?!” He spins around in Spark’s arms so fast, his elbow nearly catches Spark’s abused face.

After taking a half-step back, Go frames Spark’s face between his bandaged hands and stops them from moving further apart. Go’s dark eyes scan every inch of him between his palms, cataloging and separating the old and familiar from the new and distressing. “Spark,” he says softly, and his thumb traces a line just shy of the sutures holding his lip together. With wounding worry, he drags his fingertips over the wire-like bruise circling Spark’s throat, touch ghost-light. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing too bad,” Spark answers, smirking weakly.

Go’s snort is annoyed and unimpressed. “You were nearly strangled?”

“I _was_ strangled,” Spark corrects with as much humor as he can muster. “But others intervened before she could hurt me too much.”

“Your throat…”

Giving Go’s waist a reassuring squeeze, Spark says, “It looks much worse than it actually is. Promise.”

Go leans close, letting his arms dangle from Spark’s shoulders while he nuzzles noses with him. He presses a warm, lingering kiss to Spark’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth. “And your lip?” he asks.

A shivery sigh escapes Spark, but he says, “Your sister was pretty upset with me.”

“Mm,” Go agrees. They’re nearly flush from chest to waist, and Go’s lips are so soft where they continue to grace Spark’s face with gentle kisses. Go _has_ to understand the affect he’s having, because he just shifts closer, holds Spark tighter, kisses him more. And Spark just keeps shaking. “Her knuckles were bruised when I saw her earlier. Didn’t know she’d hit you. Though, considering this mark–” He traces the bruise along Spark’s jaw. “–is roughly the size of her fist, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I deserved it,” Spark answers, impulsively. He nuzzles Go back and slides his hands up Go’s sides, fingertips following the edges of the gauze still taped over his wounds. “And she was scared.”

“When I eventually tell her about us,” Go says, “she’ll have to reconsider marking you up.”

Spark huffs a soft laugh. “You’ll save me from your over-protective sister?”

“I’ll save you from anything I can,” Go answers, easily. He pulls away enough to frown, and again, inspects the split in Spark’s lip. “I don’t like the idea of hurting you when I kiss you, of you hurting when you kiss me.”

“That’s not–” Spark starts, and stops when Go arches a questioning eyebrow. “I think it hurts more when we’re not kissing,” he admits softly.

Laughing gently, Go says, “You’re such a sap.”

“Maybe you should kiss me to make me feel better?” Spark tries.

“ _Such_ a sap.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

Go just touches Spark, then. A caress to his cheek, a phantom kiss to his split lip, and then his warm, bandaged hands slide beneath his shirt to skate up his flanks. “You’ve had a rough day,” he breathes, dragging his hands down to his hips. After inching beneath the waist of his pants, Go digs his thumbs into the divots of Spark’s hips, wrenching a soft groan from him. Go’s lips are plump and delicious against Spark’s. “You should lay down.“

Spark barely chokes out his name before Go carefully suckles his bottom lip and effectively dismantles Spark’s ability to argue further. He follows the guidance of Go’s insistent hands until he falls back into the nest of blankets built upon his bed. It’s a soft landing, but his wounds are tender, and he can’t stop the hiss that escapes his clenched teeth.

Go hums curiously before he leans over Spark and brushes back his hair. “How much pain are you in?” he asks.

Leaning desperately into his touch, Spark says, “Not much.” It’s only half a lie.

“I don’t doubt it, especially if that thing was full at the beginning of the night,” Go says, glancing pointedly at the decanter. With a smirk, he climbs into the bed after Spark and straddles his hips, careful not to touch him. Where he hovers, too close and not close enough, is where the tentacruel dug its barbs into Spark and dragged him under water. It’s where he’s stitched together like a broken doll.

Spark, however, can’t help but touch, can’t help how he responds so quickly and thoroughly to Go. His cock throbs, pushing awkwardly against the soft material of his pants, and he wants nothing more than to buck up against Go. Instead, he runs his hands up the thick muscle of Go’s thighs until he can thumb idle circles around knobs of his hips. He bites the corner of his lip to stifle a moan. The mattress dips where Go’s knees dig into it, sinking Spark deeper into the padding. Gazing up at Go, he’s both surprised and not surprised to have him here–in his bed–despite all they’ve endured. He’s not surprised Go sneaked away from his room in the middle of the night. He’s not surprised Go sought him. Because this is them. This is how they’ve always been since their first time slinking away together.

“Is this okay?” Go asks. He leans back on his haunches and spreads his knees a bit wider, lowering himself just enough to roll his hips–a gentle, rocking grind. He rucks up Spark’s shirt and rests the heels of his palms against his abs, bracing and stabilizing himself as he slowly drags the line of his hardening dick against Spark’s.

“More than okay.” Spark whimpers and tightens his grip on Go’s hips. He arches as much as he can into the tease, but how Go straddles him prevents him from finding any leverage or satisfaction of his own accord. He tries anyway, then whines when he’s unsuccessful.

“Easy,” Go purrs. Bracing his hands on either side of Spark’s face, he dips low to kiss him. He swallows Spark’s hungry moan, languidly lapping at his bottom lip until his mouth opens with a sharp gasp. When Spark’s hands abandon his hips to tangle in his hair, Go just seals their mouths until he can wrap his tongue around Spark’s and suck. He doesn’t pull away until Spark’s left mewling, soft moans on every exhale of his labored breath. “Don’t aggravate your injuries too much. Let me take care of you.”

“Go,” Spark rasps. “ _Your_ injuries–”

“Aren’t nearly enough to hinder me,” Go insists, and he smirks as if he’s using Spark’s own words against him. He runs the tip of his nose along the side of Spark’s, then kisses his forehead. It’s so tender, Spark’s eyes burn unbidden. “When they took me,” he starts, kissing Spark on each cheek. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Spark twitches in anticipation as Go kisses up the edge of his jaw and sighs a warm breath against his ear.

There, Go nibbles the lobe and says, “And when that tentacruel dragged you under–” He rolls his hips a little harder, satisfied only when Spark’s breath hitches, and he tugs weakly at his hair. Spark presses his face against Go’s neck and kisses hard, nipping when he can. Go groans, but continues, “–I thought you’d die.”

“But I didn’t,” Spark pants. He licks the angry red mark sucked into Go’s flesh, then kisses it. He uses where he holds Go’s hair to guide him back enough to meet his gaze. “I didn’t. Go, I’m here.” He drags his thumb along Go’s bottom lip, then hauls him in to kiss him.

“I know,” Go answers. His lashes flutter, and his cheeks are flush, but when he meets Spark’s eyes, echos of panic glitter brightly in the depths of his gaze. “But I just…I need to…” He catches his lip between his teeth and presses down against Spark a little harder than he had, hard enough for the pair of them to gasp and drag their kiss-damp mouths against one another. “I need to feel you.” He straightens, leaving Spark feeling bereft and cold, and quickly pulls off his shirt. After tossing it aside, he leans over him again. “I keep thinking this is a dream I’ll wake up from.”

With so much skin laid bare before him, Spark minds Go’s bandages, but presses his palms flat against his chest. He can feel his stampeding heart beneath firm muscle and warm flesh, steady despite its haste. “It’s no dream,” Spark murmurs. Rapt in awe himself, he slides his hands up and over the rounds of Go’s shoulders and back again, then laces his fingers behind his neck.

“I’m terrified you’ll disappear,” Go says.

Shaken to hear his own thoughts spoken through Go’s mouth, Spark answers, “I’m not going anywhere.” He reassures himself as much as he reassures Go. “I’m right here with you, touching you, kissing you. I’m here.”

“…yeah,” Go faintly acquiesces, though he doesn’t seem convinced.

When he reaches for the bedside table, Spark takes the opportunity to kiss Go’s chest, to swirl the tip of his tongue around one dark nipple until it hardens. A shock of teeth has Go trembling, much to Spark’s delight.

“You’re gonna make me spill it,” Go chides, shivery and airy. “It looks expensive.”

Spark glances to where Go’s busy with the decanter, the clink of glass distant and negligible when Spark has Go’s bare chest within mouth’s reach. Keeping his lips pressed against skin, Spark says, “Careful. It’s pretty strong.”

Go probably drinks for reasons similar to his own–Spark imagines just about everyone does. Liquid courage, escape, inhibition. Tonight, Spark wanted to drink to lighten the burden of guilt, if only temporarily. Go, though… Perhaps they’d danced too close to something neither of them have named, despite the rehashed conversation. Spark isn’t ready to name it either, so he readily allows this shifting of gears.

“I’ll be fine.” Go pulls away and huffs a laugh at Spark’s soft whine. He watches Spark pout, pleased as hell with himself, as he sits up and tosses back the few fingers of liquor he’d poured. Whether it burns or not, Spark can’t tell, because Go downs it almost as fast as a bottle of water on a hot summer day. “Not bad,” he says, setting the tumbler back down.

“Is this all you came to do?” Spark asks, playfully. He raises his hips as much as his injuries allow, and Go bites back a groan. “Drink my liquor and tease me a bit?”

Go smirks, looking down at Spark with a lovely blush dusting his cheeks. “Not all,” he says. He rolls off Spark’s hips and shimmies out of his pants. Locking eyes with Spark, he makes a show of arching his back, biting his lip–a Goddamn strip tease. When his cock springs free of his pants, he grips it loosely, giving himself a few teasing strokes until his expression pinches.

With freshly ignited desire, Spark tries to roll onto his side to press against Go, to touch him–he’s naked and beautifully fucking into his own fist with short jolts of his hips–but Go’s palm pressed hard and fast against his chest keeps him on his back. Frustrated, Spark groans pitifully, but stays put. “Go,” he begs. “What are you–?”

But Go doesn’t immediately answer the unfinished question. Instead, he slides his hand down Spark’s chest, now heaving to keep pace with his racing heart, down his stomach, and lower still until he can palm through the tenting fabric of his pants.

Spark rocks his hips against the heel of his palm, needy and desperate, seeking pressure and friction. “Go, please.” He needs something, anything. When Go’s touch eases, Spark grabs his wrist and presses his hand harder against his cock. He quickly finds a fairly satisfying rhythm, pressing down and arching up in tandem. Go doesn’t let him maintain it for long; the faintest tug spurs Spark to release him. He lays there with limbs too heavy to feel as twitchy as they do, and doesn’t reach for Go again. He stares up into the darkness of the high ceiling to regain his wits.

Beside him, Go shifts. “Stop that,” he says, propping himself onto his elbow. He rests his hand against Spark’s stomach for just a moment before sliding his hand back into his pants. Spark’s hips twitch of their own accord, but Go only briefly brushes the head of Spark’s dick before carefully working the elastic down and over his hips.

“Stop what?” Spark asks. He lifts his hips to help Go’s one-handed efforts, which stop once his cock is exposed.

“That,” Go sighs. “It’s like…you think I’m rejecting you or something.”

“That’s not–”

But isn’t that _exactly_ what Spark fears?

As if he doesn’t feel vulnerable enough wounded and weary as he is…

“You always worry about coercing me or whatever,” Go continues, “and yeah, it’s really considerate of you, but damn, Spark, when are you going to believe that I want you, too?” His exasperated sigh is at complete odds with how he rolls back onto Spark and brackets him between his arms again. “And even if you don’t believe I want you, can you at least trust that I’ll speak up if I don’t _like_ something?”

Utterly bewildered, Spark stares at Go, searching the deep forest of his veridian gaze for the source of his sudden fire. He’d only ever wanted Go safe, be it in his bed or elsewhere; he’s doted on Go because he wants him happy, and he wants him to stay. It’s the least he could do, considering how he has to keep him in the shadows of his life. But Go’s gaze is piercing and the beginnings of his frown are demanding, so Spark tries, “Go, I never…”

Never listened, it seems. Spark’s throat tightens. Deafened by the noise of insidious doubt, gripping so tightly not to lose him, he never _listened_ to what Go said–what Go’s been trying to tell him from the beginning.

“I know,” Go says gently, as if he realizes it, too. He sighs, tired, and kisses Spark sweetly. “I know. I do. Okay?”

“…okay,” Spark murmurs. He’s not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to, but he’ll agree to just about anything for Go. It doesn’t sound or feel like forgiveness, but he _trusts_ Go. He rubs his thighs as if to reassure him.

“Good. Now where’s your lube?”

The sudden bark of laughter that escapes him startles him, but he doesn’t try to stifle it. This was his Go: pragmatic, insistent, wonderful; able to address and resolve the heaviest concerns with the easiest solutions. Grinning, Spark says, “Bottom drawer,” and nods towards the bedside table.

Go grins back and says, “Awesome.” He leans over, rummaging through the drawer’s other contents, and retrieves it. “I want to ride you. Is that alright?”

Spark bites the uninjured corner of his lip and groans. He lifts his hips until they meets Go’s, sliding his hands up his bare flanks and then dragging them back down his muscled chest and abs. He takes hold of Go’s hard, weeping dick and strokes it. Though he can feel his knees framing his hips, the heat of his body against him, touching him, pleasing him, grounds Spark more firmly in the reality of Go here, with him. “More than alright.”

Taking Spark’s hand, Go’s cheeks burn bright as he murmurs, “Good,” and kisses his free palm. He’s careful, reverent almost, in the way his lips drag across this callouses of Spark’s hand. His warm, wet tongue slides up the length of his index finger until he sucks it hard into his mouth and Spark groans. Pulling Spark’s hand away from his sinful mouth, Go asks, “Prep me?” He squirts a liberal amount of lube onto Spark’s fingers before he can respond.

But the answer’s yes. The answer is always yes.

Smearing the lube between his fingers until it’s warm, reaching around Go’s raised hips–this is easy; this is familiar. This isn’t a torrent of unidentified emotions or a series of questionable acts. This is _them_ , and it’s the only thing Spark feels even remotely sure of anymore.

Spark sits up despite the awkward angle to better his reach and grasps Go’s hip to anchor himself. He savors how tight Go initially is, appreciates the friction of breaching him and the hiss Go breathes into his hairline as Go cradles his head to his chest.

Weaving his fingers through Spark’s hair, Go says, “Feels like ages since we’ve done this.” He cants his hips to force Spark’s finger deeper, and he groans.

“It’s barely been a week,” Spark murmurs. He kisses his chest lightly, then eases a second finger into him. Go raises higher onto his knees as Spark pulls his fingers out, and when Go lowers himself, Spark’s hand meets him halfway.

“A lifetime ago,” Go counters. He finds an easy rhythm against Spark’s hand, but their slower pace doesn’t stop Spark from wrenching every little moan and gasp from him with sharp jabs of his wrist.

After nibbling Go’s nipple, Spark laughs, “Less than seven days.” Whatever other teasing he plans dies somewhere in his throat because Go squirts cold lube onto his dick and smears it liberally with the tips of his unbandaged fingers. When he slides his cock against Spark’s, rocking between his hips and his hand, Spark grits his teeth, unable to push against that slippery heat effectively. Instead, he leans against Go’s chest–he can feel Go’s heart thud steadily against his cheek–and finger-fucks him until his rhythm falters.

Concentrating is like netting a flock of spooked spearows for Spark, especially with Go’s cock brushing sure and slick against his own. He reminds himself to spread his fingers, to ease Go open, to stroke him deep enough to emphasize pleasure instead of discomfort. He wishes he could abandon his hold of Go’s hip, could take them both in hand and give them a nice, tight grip to fuck into, but being close is so much more important, so much more soothing.

This close, he can smell Go: the generic scent of the gym’s provided soap, his clean sweat, even a little bit of the whiskey on his breath. This close, he can taste Go: the salt of his skin, the tang of ointment edging his bandages, the bitterness of lube where they’ve touched with messy hands. This close–

“Spark,” Go pants. “Spark, I’m ready. Please.”

“You’re sure?” He twists his wrist, and Go whimpers.

Go’s throat clicks when he swallows. “Yeah, I’m sure. Just–” His breath trembles, but his hands are steady when they fall to Spark’s shoulders. “Just lay back for me. Okay?”

With his clean hand, Spark reaches for the back of his shirt collar, but Go stops him. “Just lay back.” He guides Spark to obey and kisses him fiercely before letting him fall onto the mattress.

It’s far from the first time Spark gazes heavenward to drink his fill of Go’s stunning visage. He remembers the first time he saw Go’s lovely flush; the brilliant glassiness of his wide, blown eyes; the plushness of his swollen lips. He was on his knees, then, in a very unromantic storage closet, swallowing Go’s cock until pleasure chased away his nerves. Since then, Spark’s gone to his knees in the woods, in his office, in his bedroom–countless other places where his ravenous hunger for Go needed instant gratification. So, too, however, has Spark found himself countless times  with Go in his lap–the luxurious bath in his Team Leader suite, the couch of his living room, his bed, with Go gripping the headboard.

But never, in all their times together, has Go insisted he keep his clothes.

“I can practically hear you overthinking,” Go grumbles. Irritation curls his kiss-bruised lips into a faint snarl, but he inches up Spark’s body until he can grind against the swell of Spark’s cock. The lube makes Go’s otherwise fluid motions lewd and wet, and Spark meets him as much as he can. Huffing a sigh, Go grabs Spark’s hips and pins him hard to the mattress. “Don’t overthink this. I want to ride you. I want to take care of you. _Let me_.”

“Go–”

Grabbing his aching cock by the base, Go maneuvers Spark where he needs him. He lets Spark catch the rim of his wet, open hole for a few moments while he continues to rock against him. “Ignore whatever ridiculous self-loathing is nagging you right now,” he says. “For me. Okay?”

Spark digs his useless hands into the meat of Go’s thighs and helplessly nods. “Yeah, okay. For you.”

With a gentle smile, Go leans forward and kisses Spark, that careful, lingering meeting of lips that tilts Spark’s world on its axis. “Good,” Go sighs against his yearning mouth. He sinks down expertly onto Spark’s cock a heartbeat later.

Suddenly enveloped in tight, wet, heat, Spark bucks up into Go before he can stop himself, jaw falling open lack as pleasure rockets up his spine to sizzle in the base of his skull. He throws his head back into the pillow beneath him and arches his back, pushing deeper into him. “ _Gods…_ ”

Go grunts, but he adjusts quickly in Spark’s lap, almost as if he’d expected such an erratic reaction. And so he should. No matter how often Spark gets the privilege to enjoy Go’s body, it always _always_ feels just as incredible as their first time together.

“Alright?” Go asks. He smooths his bandage-rough palms up the scorching flesh of Spark’s abdomen, beneath the cool cotton of his shirt. It reassures as much as excites Spark, and he trembles under Go’s touch.

Spark’s injuries soon protest his lust-addled movements, aching and burning sharply beneath their protective gauze pads. He groans, high and pathetic, and his eyes burn with self-indulgent frustration. He knows his iron-clad grip on Go’s thighs will leave bruises in the shapes of his desperate fingers, but he can’t bring himself to _care_. He just… He needs…

“Easy…” Go soothes, teasing Spark’s nipples with the pads of this thumbs. “I’ve got you.” After dragging his fingernails down Spark’s chest, just hard enough to burn, Go straightens and rolls his hips. It plunges Spark even deeper into him, ripping ragged moans from them both. He finds his rhythm and is relentless in his excruciating precision, limiting their points of contact to hands, Spark’s cock inside him, and those fleeting brushes of flesh whenever Go descends.

It’s _maddening_.

“Yes,” Go sighs. “Fuck, you feel so good.” But Spark’s still frustrated, still tortured, so Go huffs and pries his hands from where they dig into his thighs. “Here,” he murmurs. He guides one of Spark’s hands to his weeping dick, still slick with lube, while he brings the other to his mouth. “You damn brat.” He kisses his palm.

Spark chokes on his name, the thin bruise circling his throat throbbing. He does as is unasked of him, though, and wraps his hand around Go’s cock. With his grip tight, he gives him something just as maddening to fuck into, twisting his wrist and thumbing the head unpredictably. If Go would only let him touch in these ways, Spark would do so as greedily as he could.

The forest of Go’s eyes is swallowed by the starless night of his blown pupils, glassy gaze lidded and underscored with a flame-hot flush. He’s a brilliant blaze as he rides Spark, burning and consuming like an errant flame in a dry wood. His steady pace, heedless of how Spark’s erratic grip, his twitching hips urge him faster, is as torturous as a hearth on a cold night–too much and not enough, leaving Spark helpless to shiver.

Go bites the meat of Spark’s thumb, sinking his teeth enough to leave their imprint behind, and Spark moans, bucking up and jerking Go harder in response. Go eyes roll, but he manages a teasing, breathy, “You keep drifting. Am I not enough for you?”

“You’re perfect,” Spark blurts. Even as Go immediately fixes him with a sharp, aghast gaze, he doesn’t flinch from his confession; and Go doesn’t stop rolling his hips. “You’re beautiful.” When he cups Go’s cheek, Go leans into his touch, and he never looks away. “You’re everything I want.”

“Spark…”

“I’m close,” Spark half-lies, rocking up to meet Go’s next thrust.

Go grins.

“But I want you to come first,” he adds, completely honest. His voice is raw, low and raspy like distant thunder. He intends it this time, using his injury to his advantage. “I want to see you. I want to _feel_ you. Use me as you need.”

“ _Spark…!_ ”

“My hand, my cock–use them,” Spark says. Go’s pace quickens, his previous elegance  fading beneath Spark’s gentle coaxing. Though he may not have been close before, this new cadence, this new wildness Go struggles to maintain ruthlessly launches Spark to the cusp. “Come. God, Go, come for me.”

Go grabs Spark’s wrist and pins it beside his head, but doesn’t break stride. “You first.” He leans forward, grinding hard and deep on Spark’s cock, and Spark feels his stuttered breath against his lips–how Go fucks himself so he sees stars. “Fill me up,” Go murmurs. He digs his other hand into Spark’s hair and tugs, wrenching a whimper from him. “Mark me.” He kisses Spark, and the flaring buzz so similar to electricity crackles down Spark’s back to sizzle behind his balls. Go bites Spark’s lip to open his mouth, and sucks on his tongue.

Spark comes hard.

Pinned as he is, he can neither chase the pleasure of release nor shy away from the overwhelming onslaught of sensation. Go’s hot, wetness, tight where he clenches around him. Go’s weight pinning him down, Go’s heat setting him alight. Go’s mouth, teeth, tongue. His hearing muffles, his vision swims, and he utterly falls apart into a writhing mass of weak limbs and labored breath.

Go keeps riding him. He hums like he’s pleased, then kisses Spark sweetly.

It’s only after Go straightens again, releasing Spark from his demanding hold, that Spark’s vision and hearing slowly return. He continues to shake, his lungs unable to keep pace with his rampaging heart, hungry for more and thundering in his chest. He’s oversensitive, each of Go’s thrusts a piercing stab at his already fractured mental faculties.

Spark keens. He whimpers. He mewls. He begs. And Go rides him, still. Over his own incoherent sounds, he catches Go’s agonized “Please” and “yes” and “fuck, Spark!”

“Your hand,” Go pants. “Gimme your–” He snatches it from where Spark twists the sheets to wrap it around his cock. “Yes. Yes. Just like that.” Go holds Spark how he wants him, fucking into his wet fist in earnest. Go _uses him_.

“Please, Go. Please. Fuck, _please!_ ”

“I’m there. I’m. Right. There. Just…”

Spark sobs when Go comes, spunk scalding where it splatters along his quivering abdomen and heaving chest. It stays hot when it settles into the lines of his muscles, the dip of his navel, but cools quickly in the chilly bite of his suite. Atop him, Go shakes as if on the verge of hypothermia. Spark gently squeezes Go’s spent cock once more, just to see another spurt dribble from its tip and hear Go whine.

“Fuck…” Go pants.

Weakly, Spark laughs in response.

“Good?” Go asks, a nervous lilt to his voice.

Spark grins and brushes back Go’s sweaty bangs with his clean hand. “Perfect.”

“Can I stay?”

The answer’s yes. The answer is always yes.


	7. Chapter 7

Go mops up the mess they’ve made of themselves with his tongue and his shirt, kissing every inch of cleaned flesh and sucking love bites into Spark’s pale skin. He vows to steal one of Spark’s shirts to replace his own, and Spark doesn’t mind. They kiss lazily and murmur in the soft light by which Spark had read, curled up, warm, beneath the covers.

When he gathers the courage, Spark asks about why Go left him clothed and tries not to let the webbed wall of doubt show too freely.

“You were limping when I saw you last. You have more stitches than I can count. I didn’t want you undressing more than you had to.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“You’re wounded, too, but you stripped completely.”

Hiding his flushed face against Spark’s neck, Go answers, “I like how you look at me.”

Spark hums appreciatively and kisses Go’s hairline. “You’re beautiful,” he agrees, pleased when Go suddenly shifts them so Spark’s the one wrapped up in Go’s arms.

He always imagines himself as Go’s protector, but he can’t deny how safe he feels with Go’s sex-sleepy limbs weighing him down. And though he tries to fight it, sleep calls Spark towards its depths near dawn.

“I should head out,” Go murmurs into Spark’s hair. His steady heartbeat beneath Spark’s cheek lulls him precariously close to slumber, and his chuckle rumbles softly when Spark holds him tighter. “Spark…” he chides, carefully wiggling free of Spark’s clutching limbs. “Really.”

Spark dejectedly mutters, “Just st–” but stops before he can finish the foolish plea. He goes limp in the space Go vacates, and Go lingers, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

His green eyes implore Spark, but Spark can’t bear the weight of his own desires. So instead of finishing his thought–asking Go to stay despite the hour, despite their eventual discovery–he sighs and turns his face into the pillow. Go looks too hopeful, too authentic, and Spark can’t stand it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Go announces firmly.

Spark sits up and watches him pull up his soft pants, tie the drawstring carefully. And though he doesn’t meet Spark’s gaze while he casually rummages through the nearby dresser for a new shirt, there’s fierce determination in the draw of his brow and the faint snarl on his lips. 

“I’m _not_ ,” he repeats.

“Go, we can’t–”

“I _know_ ,” Go snaps. He slams the drawer shut, and Spark flinches. Go yanks the shirt over his head, tugging roughly until it falls loosely around his frame, and doesn’t seem to care. He curls in on himself, covering his mouth, and groans in frustration. “I know, Spark, but I can’t–” He takes a breath, then another, and Spark waits for him to lash out. Instead, Go says, “Take whatever time you need, is what I mean.” His hands fall away from his face and he looks at Spark with nothing but adoration. It’s almost too much for Spark to stomach. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Go…”

“I’ll wait for you until you’re ready, okay? However long that takes.”

Gut churning unpleasantly, Spark sighs and runs his twitching fingers through his hair. His greedy heart fills near to bursting, but he knows– _he knows_ –he can’t allow it. It would be irresponsible. It would unconscionable. it would be…everything he’s ever wanted. What he has with Go– _could_ have with Go…

“Spark?”

How often he drifts in Go’s company is alarming, but something to be examined another time. Go’s abandoned the pretense of distance and has crawled across the mattress to sit leaning against him while Spark wandered his thoughts. When Go cups his face and forces him to meet his gaze, there’s no way for Spark to escape into his own brooding thoughts.

“I’ll wait,” Go says. He traces the rough stitching of Spark’s split lip with a gentle thumb, and follows whatever patterns of color exist in his eyes–Spark knows, because he’s doing it, too; following the fault lines of gold buried in the otherwise lush green of Go’s stare. “Do you understand? I’ll _wait_.”

“You shouldn’t,” Spark’s traitorous mouth says, and his voice is gravel again. “You shouldn’t, and you shouldn’t have to.”

Go huffs a laugh, but it’s sadder than Spark’s ever heard. “Have you  _ever_ considered this from my position?” His hands fall from Spark’s face, and he pulls away. Not enough to respect propriety, but enough for Spark to feel it. “Even once?”

“Sneaking around,” Spark sighs. Hypocritical fingers inch across the rumpled sheets until they tangle with Go’s. Spark knows he shouldn’t relish touching him, but he can’t _help it._ “Hiding. Skipping classes. Lying. Yeah, Go, I have. I’ve considered it a lot.”

After snaring Spark’s hand firmly in his own, Go hauls him into a punishing, demanding kiss. He’s unforgiving when he bites the line of Spark’s sutures, enough to cause delicious pain but not to hurt him further, then slides his tongue into his mouth until Spark’s panting against his lips.

“You’re a fucking idiot if that’s all you can fathom,” Go sneers. He kisses him again, softer, and shifts closer. Spark leans back against the headboard and Go follows him, bracing his palms on either side of Spark’s head. The angle is awkward, but Go effectively looms over him, and a dangerous thrill prickles his skin. His mouth throbs, in pain and missing its sharp sting in equal measure. “It’s not about sneaking around or hiding or lying or whatever, and I’m honestly insulted if you think that little of me.”

“Go, I–”

“Hush,” Go interrupts. “I’m talking. Just listen.”

Spark swallows thickly, but doesn’t say more.

“The Leader of Team Instinct–the Academy Embarrassment–has been risking ridicule and reprimand for months in order to fuck me every chance he gets. Don’t act so surprised. How low must my standards be to allow my first fuck to be in a storage closet? Leader or no, he’s reckless, he’s immature, he’s not fit to even  _be_ a team leader. But, Spark…”

He knows. People aren’t particularly _discreet_ when they speak poorly of Spark, but it stings to hear the insults in Go’s voice, to see them form on the lips he loves kissing. He didn’t think he’d…wind up where he is with Go. If he had, he never would have allowed their first encounter to be so _base_.

“The Leader of Team Instinct–the strong and sincere and kind emissary of Zapdos–has also been risking ridicule and reprimand for months in order to _see_ me every chance he gets. He arranges chance meetings for quick kisses, arranges happenstances to cross paths in the woods, reroutes his lieutenants so I can spend the night with him. The Leader of Team Instinct gave me my most beloved and loyal pokemon _just because_. And…the Leader of Team Instinct saved my life.

“It’s not about sneaking around or hiding or lying to my sister about where I go. It’s about how you kiss me like you mean it. It’s about how you make sure I’m okay, how you _take care of me_. It’s about how you risked your own life to save mine. Can you fathom that? Can you possibly imagine someone caring about you enough to nearly die just so you can live? And if you can, can you wrap your head around the idea of ever letting someone like that go?”

Sighing softly, Go rests his forehead against Spark’s. “It doesn’t matter that I can’t tell Candela about us right now. It doesn’t matter that I can’t hold your hand in public right now. None of that matters. Don’t you see? You, Spark, are worth so much more than the cost of missed classes and white lies and, literally, anything else in the universe. To me, anyway. So I’ll wait. I’ll wait until I can tell Candela about us. I’ll wait until I can hold your hand in public. I’ll wait until I don’t have to miss class or lie, because I can spend the night and not worry about leaving before dawn.”

“What makes you think you’ll ever have that?” Spark challenges, despite how his voice wavers. Go’s faith is baffling at best, unreasonable at worst.

“Because I’m the one you kiss, dumbass, and I can practically _taste it_.”

Spark’s face burns like a long day at the beach, but he’s unable to escape Go’s presence or words. “Sure it’s not just wishful thinking? Projection, maybe? What if I kiss others like that?”

“It’s not, and you don’t.”

“I don’t,” Spark agrees, softly.

“It’s just me.” The cautious lilt in his voice is at odds with the certainty of his gaze, but Go doesn’t shy away from it.

Spark sighs, “It’s just you.”

Go presses his smirking lips against Sparks. “Then I’ll wait.”

###

The training arena is loud, rife with action and movement and life. Trainers shout orders at their sparring pokemon in one-on-one matches, while others call encouragements to drill-running pokemon. It’s a normal day, for all intents and purposes, save for the small group of veteran trainers working well away from the rest of the gym-goers. They work with their pokemon within what is, effectively, a fish bowl–an area cordoned off by thick plexiglas resilient to the harsh elements of pokemon attacks. They are what is different today, and it’s their work Spark watches.

He leans against a nearby wall with the hood of his sweater up to hide his face and his hands in his pockets; he’s far enough to remain discreet but close enough to thoroughly observe. He doesn’t have to be told what work is being done beyond the protective barrier. Even if he hadn’t signed off on the report earlier that morning, the thick scars and aggressive dispositions of the pokemon mark them as those reclaimed from Team Rocket. 

Spark frowns when the ninetails pounces upon a trainer and clamps hard on her forearm, thrashing its head to rend. Thankfully, the trainer is wearing thick, fire-retardant gear, and the team as a whole follows every safety regulation: one reclaimed pokemon at a time with at least three other trainers and pokemon to help control it. The team pulls the ninetails off its target swiftly and efficiently, and it’s called back to its pokeball with little resistance. Its victim climbs to her feet with a helping hand from a colleague and dusts herself off. She even manages to smile.

“You know,” comes a familiar voice, cool as a first snow. “I believe they’d have better odds of success were you to lead the rehabilitation efforts.” With Blanche’s voice comes her cold, detached disposition. Spark nearly shivers when she stops beside him–he’s never fully recovered from hearing different from her. “Instead of leaving it to your subordinates.”

“They’re just as skilled as I am,” Spark says easily, if slightly affronted.

Sighing, Blanche argues, “You’re more talented.” She leans against the wall beside him; he shifts away when their shoulders brush. “Look at them,” she comments. “They’re a bunch of bumbling idiots compared to you. Besides, won’t it be better for _you_ to interact with them, considering you saved them from their slave-masters?”

“Sometimes familiarity breeds contempt,” he answers, and if Blanche finds offense in his words, she doesn’t say so. Spark’s heart sinks when the team pulls out the reclaimed venusaur to work with next. Echos of fear send his heart to flight, make his fingertips tingle with burning adrenaline. He remembers, vividly, how it held Go meters in the air and squeezed. He remembers, clearly, how it held Go for Rudy to shock again and again. Spark’s stomach churns, alight with fresh bile.

Blanche makes no mention of it if she notices, stoic as ever. Instead, she asks, “Any particular reason why these pokemon are different? You usually oversee initial rehabilitation.”

“I _am_ overseeing,” Spark mutters. “I’m over here, seeing.”

“Directly,” she corrects. “The Spark I know would be in there with the veterans, working the pokemon with his own two hands.”

“Yeah, well, the Spark you know is pretty tired after running a one-man rescue operation, so…” He watches the team work, and Blanche watches him.

“What happened out there?” she asks after what feels like a decade of anticipation.

“I found Go and got him out.”

“From an decommissioned water gym, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Blanche,” Spark grumbles. “What are you getting at?”

“We haven’t found any evidence of a decommissioned gym that hasn’t already been properly destroyed or repurposed.”

He scoffs, “Maybe your secretaries and accountants should read their paperwork more closely.”

“It’s not the paperwork, Spark,” she says. “It’s the cartography.”

Turning to her, Spark asks, “What do you mean?”

He isn’t prepared for the precision edge in her piercing gaze, though he should have been. How easily she stares through him is a shaking, stripping sensation, as if she’s tearing through the layers of his self-constructed image with just her eyes. Her words, however, are the final push to tip Spark’s precarious balance into blatant unease. “There aren’t any standing gyms slated for decommissioning. The queue’s been steady and thorough for months. There’s nothing scheduled, and Academy forces haven’t found anything within a fifty kilometer radius.”

“…that can’t be right,” Spark murmurs.

Folding her arms across her chest, Blanche continues, “Considering your one-man rescue operation, there’s no one to corroborate your account of–”

“Go can once he’s well enough to file his own report,” Spark quickly interjects. “And our injuries align with my account.”

“Mm. A tentacruel and…”

A resounding crash startles Spark, but it doesn’t faze Blanche. Spark whips around in time to see the venusaur rear back and throw itself into the plexiglas a second time. The first time already caused a faint web of cracks to spread across its surface.

“… _that_ venusaur,” Blanche adds. “Remarkably aggressive, and towards _you_ , apparently. What, exactly, did you do to cultivate such hatred in a pokemon?”

“What makes you think I did anything?” Spark asks, unable to tear his eyes from the raging pokemon. 

“Why should I presume you did nothing?” Blanche counters.

The same vines that nearly crushed Go’s ribs slam viciously against the deepening cracks in its clear enclosure. The warmth in his chest he typically labeled as _compassion_ for such distressed pokemon flares into a tainted heat of nothing but _hatred_. Spark realizes, with horrifying clarity, that he’d have no qualms with personally euthanizing the beast–that he very much _wants to_. His veterans struggle to reign it in, but he only faintly acknowledges it, too overwhelmed with his epiphany.

“It’s abandoned,” Spark answers, watching it fight a battle it can’t possibly win. “Its trainer’s gone. Wouldn’t you be upset, too, to find yourself left behind and forgotten?”

“Can’t imagine why I wouldn’t be,” Blanche says, softly. “But I’m not an abused pokemon, so I doubt I’d seek such vengeance.”

Spark smirks, then. “Wouldn’t you.”

With a sigh, she says, “The glass will break if it keeps up its pace. Shouldn’t you call for reinforcements?” 

But even as she makes the suggestion, the veterans’ aiding pokemon leap to action, slamming the single-minded venusaur from all sides with a barrage of coordinated attacks. Though its eyes flutter with fading consciousness, the venusaur never looks away from Spark. When its vines finally fall limp and it collapses to the ground, the pokemon is finally recalled to its pokeball.

“I suppose they are rather skilled,” she concedes once the crisis is resolved.

Grinning, Spark says, “Never had a doubt!”

“Spark…”

“Blanche.”

“Things will go much more smoothly and have much more desirable results if you’re more forthcoming with what’s happened. With what’s _happening_.”

Smile firmly in place, he says, “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Blanche, but you’re welcome to read the report I’ve submitted. Electronic as it is, it should already be within the Academy archives, even if it hasn’t been completely processed yet.”

“I have,” she nearly snarls. “And it makes no mention of the split in your lip and the bruise around your neck.”

“The lip’s from Candela’s fist. You were there,” he says.

“And your throat?”

“Bruises can take time to rise,” he answers. “I blacked out at some point during my extraction. Anything could have happened.”

“Shall I depose your uncle, then?”

Spark shrugs. “Probably an errant cord or strap or something. I’m told we were air-lifted from the facility. My medical staff hasn’t seemed particularly alarmed, so I don’t see a reason to be.”

She growls his name between gritted teeth, “Spark.”

“You have to make formal allegations before you can depose anyone,” he chirps. “So unless you’re itching for a scandal, I hope you find satisfactory answers to your questions in the official statements my staff and I have submitted.”

“I want the truth, Spark,” Blanche says. 

“No,” he responds. “You don’t.”

“Go was kidnapped and tortured,” she pushes. “You broke the Code and went rogue. Protocol demands an investigation, but I’m sure Candela can be convinced to forego such formalities considering you saved her brother’s life, and I’d be happy to do the same should you only be honest with me.”

“And what about your honesty with me?” he challenges. “Candela’s?”

“That’s…”

Spark raises his eyebrows and smirks when her words inexplicably fail her. Shaking his head, he pushes himself from the wall and makes to walk past her. “We all have our ways of coping,” he says. His hand is heavy where it rests on her shoulder, and he squeezes hard until she tenses beneath him. “Some are just more efficient than others.”

###

Spark bites his fist to bruising as the infirmary staff carefully cleans his healing wounds. Extensive activity and direct injections of pain medication made him completely ignorant of how a few sutures had torn and stained otherwise white bandages crimson. Now, he pays the price of experiencing every burning swab of antiseptic along the knitted gashes of his thighs. The staff won’t give him anything stronger, have denied him access to the things that had let him walk around with only a moderate limp.

He’s meant to stay in bed and heal, but he has no viable explanation for why he can’t. There’s no war. There’s no emergency. There’s no necessity–to them, anyway–why Spark can’t follow their instructions, and Spark isn’t about to confess his crimes to the infirmary staff of one of his gyms.

The nurse helped him shimmy into a pair of shorts after the wounds along his hips and pelvis were treated and rebandaged, so he isn’t completely indecent when the examination room bursts open with a loud bang. It startles her, however, and she presses harder than expected against a nasty tear on his inner thigh; it makes his eyes burn with involuntary tears.

He tosses back his head and clamps his eyes shut, scrubbing them fiercely through the nurse’s hurried apologies.

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” he says, even though it feels as far from fine as he can imagine. “Just…just stitch it closed already. Please.”

“Holy shit, Spark…” Go’s sneakers squeak where he suddenly stops on the tile floor.

Spark sits up fast enough to yank his leg from the nurse’s grasp, but when she tugs the suture thread too hard–again, unprepared for the sudden movement–he hardly notices. Instead, he stares wide-eyed at Go, who stares wide-eyed at him in turn. It’s when Go’s face visibly pales that Spark realizes how utterly underdressed he is, how the severity of his injuries is on full display.

He swallows thickly and forces a smile to his face. There’s someone standing a pace or so behind Go, after all. “Go. Uncle Taran. What, uh, what brings you here?”

The question seems enough to jar Go from his shock, and his brows furrow in immediate determination. “I tried to explain to him that none of it would matter since you saved my life and I’m Candela’s brother, but he insisted that he come–”

“–show you what Leader Blanche has decided to do,” Lt. Surge interjects. He strides over to Spark’s beside and hands him a tablet that displays the report. If he notices how Spark’s hands shake, he doesn’t draw attention to it. “It seems you’ve pushed her too far.”

Spark flicks through the report, skimming the text, glancing over the accompanying photographs. Without perusing, he realizes Blanche has, in fact, files formal charges against Spark. The allegations call into question his eligibility for Emissary and Team Leader status in light of withholding vital information on Rocket activities. An analysis of the utterly destroyed water gym where Go had been held, and a thoroughly detailed photo set of the scene accompany it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Go insists. He rounds the examination table to Spark’s other side and rests his warm hand on Spark’s shoulder, pressing his thumb into the tense muscle. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Did you do this?” Spark asks his uncle, eyes narrow. “Did you–?”

Lt. Surge shakes his head. “We only extracted you and Go. Though many of my people pressed for–” He glances sidelong at the nurse who continues to treat Spark’s wounds. “–further instruction, I abstained from taking action until you were well enough to consult.”

“Am I well enough to consult now?” Spark sneers rhetorically. Go’s grip on his shoulder tightens, and he has half a mind to shrug him off.

Sighing, Lt. Surge says, “I wouldn’t have troubled you with it until you’d returned to the Academy.”

“Spark,” Go hisses. “Listen to me. This doesn’t matter. She can–”

Lt. Surge clears his throat and pointedly look from Go to the nurse working between Spark’s spread knees.

“How much longer…?” Spark asks.

“Almost finished,” she says.

Spark hums an acknowledgement, then hums again when Go combs back his hair with gentle fingers. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks softly. “Are they giving you anything for the pain?”

“According to the doctor, he’s had quite enough pain management,” the nurse says. “Bed rest at this point, and only enough medicine to ease the edge.”

Go scoffs, and Spark sighs. Before Go can launch into an indignant rant on his behalf, Spark takes his hand and threads their fingers, giving him a light, subduing squeeze. Thankfully, Go falls silent.

The surgical scissors’ final snip echos in the otherwise silent examination room, and the nurse quickly swabs and bandages the wound. “Bed rest,” she emphasizes as she tosses away supplies and tools, tidying up the area. “Have either the Lieutenant or your friend summon someone with a wheelchair when you’re ready to leave. Take your time.” Before departing, she pulls a warm blanket from a nearby heater and drapes it over Spark’s bare legs.

Lt. Surge waits for the heavy door to shut behind the nurse before he asks, “How do you want to proceed?”

“What’s there to do?” Go asks. “They won’t find anything incriminating if the damage in those photos is any indication. And we can just say there were rigged explosives that went off when we escaped. I don’t understand why any of this matters.”

“Because, regardless of whether an investigation yields evidence, it’s still a scandal,” Lt. Surge explains. “Team Mystic’s Leader is still accusing Team Instinct’s Leader of questionable behavior, withholding information, dishonesty. It goes against the Covenant.”

“Covenant? What Covenant?”

“It’s the pact the Emissaries make with one another to help uphold the Balance,” Spark says. “Blanche is accusing me of jeopardizing the Balance, which is a betrayal of the Covenant and acts against the Treaty.”

“You saved my life,” Go growls. “I’m brother to the Emissary of Moltres and I’m–” How he stumbles over his words is almost too quick to notice, but Spark does. So does Lt. Surge. “–important because of that, right? I mean, Candela said she had Zapdos’ and Articuno’s help looking for me. Clearly it was okay to try to save me.”  
  
“Not the way Spark did it,” Lt. Surge mutters.

Go snarls, “Do you think she could have done better? I’d be dead if she’d been the one to find me. It was a _water gym_.”

Lt. Surge snaps, “Do you think the Birds give a damn about you, kid? Do you think they give a damn about their Emissaries?”

Bewildered as if struck, Go falls silent. 

“They don’t,” he continues. “They’re so beyond us, I’m amazed they even entertained the notion of searching for you. You mean nothing to them. We, humans, mean _nothing_ to them. Their Balance is what’s important. Order is what’s important. A few lives lost for the cause is nothing, even if you’re one of them.”

“That’s enough, uncle,” Spark says, voice far calmer than his emotions.

“Do you not care about the Balance or Order or…the Treaty or the Covenant or whatever then?” Go demands. “Are you anti-establishment or something?”

Spark snickers. “Far from it,” he answers. “My uncle is very utilitarian.”

“Then why…?”

“That’s a conversation for another time,” Spark sighs. 

“Spark,” Lt. Surge says. “I don’t need to remind you what this–these charges–” He swallows thickly, but quick regains control of whatever upset he feels before it can spill too freely. “–Spark, he’ll come.”

“I know he will,” Spark answers. He untangles his hand from Go’s and taps the tablet screen a few times, flicking through another few pages of the report. “There’s nothing too questionable in this. She doesn’t have much to go on.”

“She’s angry,” Lt. Surge says. “She’s doing this specifically to bring him.”

“I know,” Spark groans. “I know she is, and it’s all so utterly ridiculous.”

“Who?” Go dares to ask. “Who’s coming?”

“Even the Birds have one to whom they answer,” Spark says. “And, so too, do their Emissaries.”

“Wait,” Go says, “so there’s someone even more powerful than the legendary three?”

Spark nods.

“And you’ve pissed this person–or, uh, pokemon?–off?” he ventures.

“No,” Lt. Surge answers. “He’s pissed off Blanche, so she’s bringing this person into the matter.” Softly, he adds, “I can’t protect you from him.”

Spark nods faintly, then meets Go’s worried gaze. “He won’t arrive for a while,” he assures him. “It’s always best for us to sort things out among ourselves, and he gives us ample opportunity to do so before intervening.”

“But who _is_ he?”

“That’s not important,” Lt. Surge says gruffly. “With any luck, you’ll never meet him.”

“Is he really that bad?” Go asks nervously. His hand finds Spark’s forearm, where he holds him with a grounding grip and a caressing thumb.

“For Spark, he is.”

“Spark–” Go tries.

But Spark cuts him off with, “I need to see Zapdos.” Looking to him, he asks Go, “Could you find a wheelchair for me? There should be one near the main entrance of the infirmary.”

“Sure,” he says, though he sounds defeated. His jaw tightens for the briefest of moments before he takes Spark by the jaw and kisses him. Hard and demanding, he licks into Spark’s mouth and carefully suckles his split lip; he doesn’t relent until Spark gives a starved gasp. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, the kisses Spark again, sweetly.

As he leaves, he levels Lt. Surge with a challenging stare, daring him to question the kiss. But Lt. Surge doesn’t.

When Go leaves, he says, “You’ve gotten yourself a bold one this time, haven’t you? Stubborn, too, considering he should be using a wheelchair himself.”

“He’s not that badly wounded,” Spark scoffs. “Besides, you know about us already. And he knows you know.”

“I’m your uncle,” Lt. Surge says, crossing his arms. “Not a rival. I’m not a threat to him.”

“He’s worried, is all,” Spark says, returning absently to the tablet and its report. “Now toss me that pair of pants over there. I can’t go wheeling around the gym in my underwear.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr for faster updates: [foxtricks](http://foxtricks.tumblr.com/)  
> and follow me twitter for general shenanigans: [@_foxtricks](http://twitter.com/_foxtricks/)


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